


closer than you've been

by harryismymuse



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, M/M, Sirens, Soulmates, Suicide mention, brief descriptions of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 11:28:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 31,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9818342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harryismymuse/pseuds/harryismymuse
Summary: Liam crashes his car and wakes up to haunting green eyes and a man with a secret. Harry tries to push Liam away, but something is binding them together that's much stronger than any fear that might tear them apart.ORHarry is a Siren, and Liam falls for him, despite the risks.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> The title is based off of the song 'Panther' by Made in Heights.
> 
> "In Greek mythology, the Sirens were dangerous creatures, who lured nearby sailors with their enchanting music and voices to shipwreck on the rocky coast of their island" (from the Sirens wiki page).

Liam doesn’t really remember waking up. Or how he got here. Or why ‘here’ is a hospital, and he’s lying on a hospital bed, covered by nothing more than a couple thin blankets and a paper-thin gown that lets a breeze sweep up his nether regions every time he shifts into a different position. He thinks there might be a button, somewhere, to buzz a nurse in, but before he can think too hard on it, one is shuffling in already. Brown eyes, soft smile, and bubble-gum pink scrubs to match her white and pink sneakers. She has a headful of braids pulled neatly back into a bun, held back by a pale-pink hair clip. Her entire face lights up when she sees Liam’s awake, and she excitedly introduces herself as his day nurse, Natasha. 

“Liam Payne,” He replies back, unnecessarily, wincing in pain as he tries to sit up further. “If I guess your favorite color, can I get you to spare me from the hospital lunch?”

Natasha just chuckles and goes about checking Liam’s vital signs. She has a gentle touch, and it somehow manages to calm most of the questions swimming around in Liam’s head, but when his physician steps in the room—Natasha must have summoned her when Liam wasn’t paying attention—his body goes rigid again, and he can suddenly feel every ache and pain shooting through his limbs. 

“How’re we doing, Mr. Payne?” The doctor—a young woman not much older than Liam, with bright red hair and intelligent, bright blue eyes—asks him, fixing him with the universal “empathetic doctor gaze”. 

“A little less than peachy, I’ll admit.”

The physician smiles—a small one, but it’s genuine. “Well hopefully we can fix that. My name is Dr. Malloy, I’m going to be in charge of your treatment and getting you up and feeling better again as quickly as possible.”

“Trying to get rid of me already?” Liam teases.

Dr. Malloy actually laughs a little at that, which makes Liam feel a bit accomplished, despite the situation. But it doesn’t last long, because then Dr. Malloy is fixing Liam with that serious expression doctors use when they’re about to give you shitty news. “You were in a car accident, Mr. Payne, do you remember that? You suffered some internal injuries—a couple cracked ribs, some bruising and bleeding, as well as a mild concussion. There were also some fairly deep lacerations on your arms and legs.”

It’s like each injury lights up on Liam’s body as she says them, glowing white with pain every time he zeroes in on one. His ribs hurt the worst, he realizes.

“A car accident.” Liam mumbles, taking it in. He should probably be more concerned for his own health, or even the health of whoever else was on the road when it happened, but instead Liam finds himself wondering how high the accident’s gonna jack up his insurance. “How’s my truck?”

Dr. Malloy and Natasha both seem shocked by the question, but Natasha recovers first. “Totaled, I think.”

Great. He’s supposed to be helping his friend from work move next Saturday, and now he has no truck. 

“Do you remember anything at all from the accident?” Dr. Malloy inquires, furrowing her brows slightly. Probably trying to determine if Liam’s head is more fucked up than she initially suspected. 

Liam is about to shake his head. He doesn’t remember anything except being at work Thursday evening—praying for 5pm to roll around so he could get the hell out of there finally—and then waking up in the hospital a minute ago. Everything in between is missing, except…

“I think I remember singing?” He says the words, then immediately realizes how ridiculous and random they sound. “Not, like, singing on the radio. Or my singing. Just like—singing?”

Dr. Malloy has a look on her face now that Liam loosely translates into ‘You poor, confused idiot.’

He decides not to talk about the singing anymore after that. 

 

A few people come to visit. A handful of coworkers, his next-door neighbor, his buddy from the gym that pushes him through leg days, and his best friend Louis, who takes a half day off to come watch Marvel movies with him on the shitty hospital television while shoveling smuggled-in junk food into their mouths. It takes Liam about an hour of bargaining and yes-mom’s over the phone to convince his mother, father, and sisters not to catch the first flight out to see him, but he finally manages it with a somewhat-reluctant promise to use his last bit of vacation time in the summer to come visit. 

Liam’s exhausted by the time the sky outside starts turning pink, and he’s watching back-to-back re-run episodes of _Family Matters_ with glazed eyes. He’s not in as much pain anymore—thank you, Vicodin—so it’s a little easier for him to doze off then, totaled pickup trucks and a haunting, half-forgotten voice filling his dreams. 

When he wakes up again, it’s not morning, like he was expecting. In fact the sun still hasn’t completely set, and Liam finds that he’s still tired enough to sleep through a three day weekend without so much as getting up to pee. Liam considers himself a polite guy—too polite, more often than not—but he’s not about to bite his tongue for whoever it is who decided to wake him up right at that moment. 

“Listen—” He starts, but when he tries to sit up, the words die on his tongue, replaced by a strangled growl of pain, barely bit back in time. There are tears stinging his eyes, threatening to fall, when he hears the guitar.

A young man is sitting in a chair beside Liam’s bed, his head hung down, eyes cast towards his fingers on the strings as a dark blue pick finds the music with careful movements. Liam doesn’t recognize the song, but it’s pretty, he thinks. And so is the man playing it.

Long, dark hair is pulled back from the musician’s face, secured in a loose, messy bun that still can’t quite catch all the flyaway baby hairs curling at the nape of his neck or behind his ears. There’s a pink tinge to the man’s cheeks, and a softness to the lines of his face and his presence in the room. Unassuming and all-consuming at once. Liam can’t look away.

Maybe he’s dreaming?

Liam waits for the first song to end—too polite to interrupt, and too immersed in the melody to break it—hoping that he’d get a chance in between songs to ask the man’s name, maybe find out if he’s lost. Did he stumble into the wrong room, or did he fall straight from heaven? 

Liam won’t use that line. He probably shouldn’t use any line, he realizes. Or he should use them all? …Frankly, it’s hard to tell whether it’s him thinking or the Vicodin at this point. But either way, Liam doesn’t get the chance to say anything, because the curly-haired musician simply keeps playing right on through, flawlessly transitioning the song into something faster, more thrumming, his fingers flying in a blur on the strings. 

The musician doesn't speak, or look up, for another forty-five minutes. Just plays right on through, like Liam isn’t even there. Like he’s trying to remove himself as far from the music as possible, until he’s just an extension of the guitar itself, a hollow vessel of glossed-over wood. A music maker and nothing else.

But Liam sees him. Can’t see anything else. And when the music stops and the man finally glances up at him—eyes so green it’s like Liam’s seeing three months of spring in one glance—the vision of him is branded into his mind, hot coals on skin that’s been numb for years. 

And then he’s gone. Disappeared down the hall with his pick and his guitar case, only the ghost of a melody left to keep Liam company. 

 

The next day, Liam’s sure he’s dreamed it. Even more sure when he tells Louis and his best friend laughs so hard he falls off his chair and nearly chips his tooth on the old linoleum. 

“Alright, alright,” Liam rolls his eyes, waiting for Louis to catch his breath. “So it was a dream then, fine.”

“No Liam, the mute guitar fairy absolutely visited you in your room last night. Maybe this evening he’ll wear a flower crown and ask you to hum campfire songs with him. 

“Shut up,” Liam tries to mean it, but he can’t, so he just starts laughing instead. 

“Oh, you mean Harry?” Natasha must have come into the room when they weren’t looking. The sound of her voice startles both men into silence as they turn to look at her. She continues on, unfazed. “Harry, our music therapist, he came to play for you yesterday evening.”

“What in the hell is a music therapist?” Louis demands, managing to find his way back to a sitting position in his chair. But he starts laughing before he can even get an answer, musing, “Is it some poor sap who comes and plays a tiny violin by your bedside while you wallow in your own misery?”

Natasha gives him a look, but choses to ignore him in favor of explaining to Liam. “Harry plays for sick patients, to help them feel better. It’s been proven by many studies that music can have an extremely positive impact on the recovery process of some people.”

“Oh,” Liam breathed, thinking back to the soft thrum of the guitar, and the gentle movement of Harry’s fingers. He could see how that would make someone feel better. It worked for him. 

“Harry is shy sometimes,” Natasha adds, watching Liam’s face. “Sweet kid, though. Easy on the eyes.”

“Yeah,” Liam grins, then stops himself, clearing his throat. “He has, um, nice eyes.”

“Sure,” Natasha smirks and walks out of the room with her chart, no doubt ready to spill to the other nurses about Liam’s big schoolboy crush on the shy, curly-haired musician. 

Louis’ got the same smirk on his face when Liam looks at him, and Liam grumbles, “Piss off,” before his smile gives him away and Louis starts sputtering off laughter. 

 

Later that afternoon, Liam’s pain reaches an excruciating level. Bad enough to make him live up to his name. He feels like his flesh is being licked right from his bones. The Vicodin isn’t working anymore, so they put him on something stronger. Something that makes his whole body still and ice cold. Death seems to sweep over him, circling once, twice, nearly ready to take him. 

 

It’s not until a few hours later that Liam opens his eyes again, sometime just before the last little rays of light seep below the horizon. His empty hospital room is cast in shadows of pink and indigo, darkness seeping in fast until Liam finally presses the button to turn on his light. He finds himself immersed in the yellow glow of it just as a knock at the door comes, and after a moment or two—Liam can’t quite find his voice just yet—it swings open, revealing a tall, gangly figure with a guitar strapped over his back. Sea glass green eyes widening in surprise when they find Liam’s brown ones gazing back at them. 

“I’m—I’m so sorry, I—”’

It’s the first time Liam’s heard Harry’s voice, and it shocks him, how low and slow it is, like far-away thunder, or the settling of an old house. Liam wants to hear it again, and again. 

“Wait—” He calls, stopping the man before he can retreat back into the hall. Liam’s head is muddy, weighed down by the impact of his pain medication, and the slow-retreating fog of deep sleep. “Harry, right?”

The man with the guitar turns, looks surprised yet again, but nods. 

“I’m Liam,” 

“I know,” That voice again.

“Can I hear the songs you have for me today?”

Harry considers it, fingers the pick he’s already holding in his hand like it will tell him the right answer. Finally, he just pulls up a chair beside the hospital bed and sits down. Liam holds his breath and waits patiently as Harry gets out his guitar and begins to play. 

 

It happens that way three more times. Three more evenings of quiet melodies and the occasional warm, honey-coated rasps of Harry’s voice humming along. He never actually sings the words, even though Liam wishes he would. But Harry doesn’t speak much at all. Just plays and hums and looks up at Liam from time to time, something unspoken hiding behind his eyes. 

On Tuesday morning, Liam gets discharged on an outpatient basis, Dr. Malloy insisting he come back to visit in a few days to check how he’s doing. Liam pulls on the fresh change of clothes and the old pair of his boots that Louis brought him from their shared apartment. He hugs the nurses—Natasha especially—and chats with them for a while, before promising to stop by and say ‘hi’ whenever he has the chance. He’s supposed to be out the door by then, headed for the parking lot where Louis is waiting for him, his piece-of-shit car rumbling and spitting smoke while it idles (not because Louis can’t afford a new one, but because he’s too damn sentimental to let it go)—but instead, Liam finds himself wandering towards the hospital gift shop. He’s not really sure what he’s looking for until he finds it, bright and colorful, and maybe a little much—but he takes it to the counter to pay for it anyway. 

Liam is well enough that he can move around on his own, but not without a fair amount of pain. He has to keep stopping to rest, catching breaths between the ache of his ribs and the stitches in his thigh threatening to give up. It doesn’t help that he’s lugging along a huge bouquet of flowers—Liam doesn’t really recognize them by name, but there’s white and yellow and stalks of green wrapped up in a thin, baby blue paper. 

He’s red-faced and a little sweaty by the time he reaches the floor where his old room was. When Natasha sees him hobbling along, leaning heavily on the one crutch they’d given him, and clutching the bouquet of flowers for dear life, she hurries over to him, a look of concern plastered on her face. 

“Is—is Harry around?” Liam manages.

“Liam, honey, you could have just asked one of us to go get you the flowers,” Natasha tsks and takes the bouquet from Liam’s hand. But she smiles when she leans down to sniff them, her eyes turning a little mischievous. “For Harry, huh?”

Liam blushes furiously and casts his eyes towards the floor, trying to keep his smile at bay. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Have you seen him today?”

“I’m sorry, honey, Harry’s out sick today. Poor thing called in with a migraine this morning.”

Liam’s smile drops, not only with disappointment, but also with the knowledge that Harry is probably curled up on his bathroom floor at the moment, alone and in pain. Well, maybe alone—maybe not. But Liam doesn’t wanna think about that, so he doesn’t.

“Could you just, um,” Liam motions in the general direction of the flowers, already making the effort to turn around, back towards the elevators. “Make sure he gets them, please?”

“Of course, hon.” He hears Natasha say behind him. Then, “Someone get that boy a chair before he passes out,”

 

 

“How come you never buy me flowers?” Louis demands the moment Liam gets into car, shortly after thanking the nurse who’d escorted him to the hospital exit in a wheelchair. _Just precaution_ , the guy had chuckled. Kenny, if Liam remembers correctly.

“Who told you?” Liam groans. 

Louis rolls his eyes. “Well first of all, the gift shop is right there, you nitwit. I could _see you_.” He points a little further to the right of the hospital building, to a set of windows where big stuffed bears, balloons, and other gift shop nonsense items were clearly visible. “But also, Natasha texted me. Says you were looking a little sad, and I should be easy on you.” Louis grins wickedly.

“But you won’t be.”

“Well I’m not a monster, Liam. How does some consolation ice-cream sound?”

 

 

Something—the triple scoops of birthday cake ice-cream, or the large chili cheese burger meal, or the three celebratory homecoming beers he drinks with Louis when they return to their apartment—doesn’t quite agree with Liam, so he takes his pills and turns in early. Immediately realizing he probably should’ve bunkered down in the bathroom instead. 

He thinks about getting up, but when he looks down at the floor he feels a little dizzy, so he curls into a ball, hugging his pillow for dear life, and tries to find peace in the dark and quiet of his bedroom. He doesn’t have much luck, at first. His stomach is killing him, and he’s still bummed he didn’t get a chance to say goodbye to Harry. He tries to remember the exact green of his eyes, or the look of his fingers as they moved gracefully over the guitar strings, but he can’t. Frustration sets in, and an empty kind of feeling he can’t explain. It’s nearly enough to make him turn on the TV, if only for a distraction, but then he hears something, and it makes a chill run down his spine. 

“Hello?” He asks, but when he says the words out loud, he realizes the sound is coming from inside his own head. Quiet as a whisper, but it’s suddenly all he can focus on. 

It’s singing, he realizes. But unlike anything he’s ever heard. Almost like the singer is underwater, their voice coming to him through the water, a garbled, though impossibly beautiful melody. Old, he thinks, something he recognizes even though he shouldn’t. It reminds him of the lullabies his mother used to sing him, like coming in front of a blazing fire after a long afternoon of playing in the snow. Liam doesn’t want to sleep. He wants to do nothing else but listen, to hear the song until he knows it better than his own heart, until it drowns out everything else entirely. 

But the few moments of peace are enough for his exhausted body to win against him, shutting down until his mind goes blank, and the singing in his head fades to quiet. 

 

Life goes on after that. Liam recovers in a little over a month, and returns back to work with Louis, both of them carpooling together in the mornings and spending their evenings at their favorite bar, right across from the office building, usually getting sloshed enough to edge right along the boundary of blacking out. At 25 years old, they’re getting too old for it, Liam knows. In a couple years it will start to lean less towards immature and more towards pathetic, but he tries not to think about it.

“Who spit in your cheerios this morning, mate, jesus!” Louis laughs, slapping Liam on the back, sloshing some of his beer onto Liam’s sleeve. “You’ve been nursing that one beer for an hour—you sick?”

Liam shrugged. “Just don’t feel much like drinking tonight, I guess?”

Louis comes down, like a hot hair balloon landing, but not deflating. “You’re doing it again—over-thinking.”

Liam snorts. Tries not to make his response sound derisive, but it does anyway. “Thinking, yeah, I tend to do that. You should try it some time.”

Louis doesn’t pay him any attention though. Just tosses back the rest of his beer and reaches for Liam’s neglected one. They have many of the same faults, and they’ve been friends so long, fought so many times, that whatever either has to say can’t sting more than what they’ve already said to each other in the past. It’s freeing, in a way. 

“You thinking about Coachella Kid, again?”

“What?”

“Harry—you know, that one you won’t shut up about when you’re drunk.” Louis slurs. Then grins when Liam looks away and his cheeks go red. 

“I’m always thinking about him,” Liam murmurs. He’d gone back to the hospital countless times, whether he had an appointment with his doctor or not—just to see if Harry was around, if he wanted to get coffee or take a walk, or even just make small talk for thirty seconds. Liam was there so much, lingering around the waiting rooms, dropping off flowers and candies and coffee, that one of the doctors actually assumed he was a family member of an inpatient at one point. Told him whoever he was visiting was lucky to have him caring for them so well. 

But whenever Liam shows up, Harry’s always busy, or out sick, or on his lunch break, or just not available. It’s obvious enough that Natasha takes pity on Liam and tried a couple times to set him up with one of the cute new surgical interns instead. Liam goes on a couple dates to be polite, and they’re lovely, but he’s still so caught up over Harry that it isn’t fair for him to go into something new while he’s still waiting for the other curly-haired shoe to drop. 

Earlier this afternoon, Liam actually had a Dr.’s appointment, so he went into the hospital on his lunch break and got the good news that he’s looking well, well enough to stop with the weekly checkups and get back to his normal range of movement. Liam’s so thrilled, he could cry— _back to the gym_. He goes to chat with Natasha and the other nurses after his appointment, telling them the news, but also to ask around for Harry, as usual. He was already prepared to hear one explanation or another, some excuse Harry’s rattled off to whoever contacted him, only to have them parrot it back to Liam a few moments later. But instead, it’s something else entirely. Something Liam didn’t expect.

“Harry quit yesterday, honey, you’re a little late.” One of the older nurses tells him before Natasha can find a way to phrase the news more gently. She glares at the woman until she huffs and shuffles away.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” She says. “It was kind of sudden.”

Liam just nods. “Yeah, yeah I see.”

 

Back at the bar later that night, Louis’ urging him to put himself out there. “There’s loads of gorgeous men out there, just waiting for Liam Payne to sweep them off their feet.”

Liam gives a half-hearted glance out to wear Louis’ pointing. “All of the men you’re referring to are straight, Lou.”

Louis takes another chug of his beer, considers this. “Well, maybe you’ll help them with some self-discovery, who knows.”

Liam puts down a couple bills and gets up from his seat at the bar. “See you at home.” And he snags the lanyard off of Louis’ belt loop in one sweep. “I’m taking your keys.”

Louis cusses him out until he makes it out the door. And Louis’ probably spitting profanities even still, but at least Liam can’t hear him anymore. He just gets into the piece of shit car he and Louis are sharing now—what with his precious truck getting completely totaled—and lets the rumble of the engine settle into his bones for a moment before he pulls out of the bar’s tiny parking lot and heads in the direction of home. 

He hears it again then—the song. Whispered like a prayer, raising the hairs on the back of his neck like someone’s breathing it there. That strange, murky voice that makes Liam think of angels, makes him wonder what Orpheus’ lyre really sounded like; sweet enough to cross the boundaries of life and death and make it back again. 

It’s the fifth time Liam’s heard the singing in less than two months. It should terrify him—what if he’s losing his mind? Hallucinating music that no one else can hear, letting it lure him down, down, down into his mind. But instead he embraces it, lets it consume him. He doesn’t really feel like he has a choice.

 

He finds himself parked in front of another bar he doesn’t recognize, twenty minutes later. The singing is still there, faint, like a hand caressing the back of his neck, holding him, offering reassurance. He climbs out the car and heads towards the entrance without really thinking. Opens the door, heads inside. 

It’s crowded, even for a Friday night. Packed with broad-shouldered guys standing along the walls, beers in hand, and drunk women in wedged sandals wobbling their way along the dance floor with bright, dazed grins. It’s like some kind of weird social experiment; walking into a bar completely sober when everyone else is wasted. Even the staff seems to be a little out of it when he makes eye contact with them. 

_Why are you here? You should go home_. Liam’s inner monologue urges him. It sounds nice when he thinks about it; the silence of his apartment, the warmth of his sheets, maybe getting off once in the shower before bed to make the sleep come easier.

_Jesus, maybe I’m depressed_ …

“Do you wanna start a tab?” An attractive bartender with tattoos running up both arms asks Liam, getting impatient when he only gets a bit of indecisive stammering in return. “Alright, buddy, let me know when you figure it out.”

Liam’s just about to catch the guy’s attention again—to ask him for a beer because he doesn’t wanna go home, and he doesn’t wanna stay here sober—when he sees a familiar face across the room, near the back corner. A familiar face that’s staring right at him. 

“Harry?”

 

Liam hurries over to where he’s sitting, nursing what looks to be a Long Island while fumbling with the cross necklace hanging around his neck. Harry blinks twice when he sees Liam moving towards him, his eyes getting wide and panicked.

“Harry—” Liam makes it to the table, a grin already plastered on his face. He can’t help it—he hasn’t seen Harry in weeks, and he’s even more gorgeous than Liam remembers. Sleepy green eyes, pink lips, a flush to his cheeks. 

Harry’s smiling too, a little one, but it’s genuine. “Hi, Liam. Glad to see you well.”

Liam nods, scratching the back of his head because he’s suddenly nervous. “Yeah, I’m doing better now… I um, heard you quit the hospital?”

Harry doesn’t seem surprised that Liam knows. He ducks his gaze a little, gives a small shrug with his shoulders. “Yeah, I’m just looking for something different, I suppose.” He looks over his shoulder, at a pair of guys playing darts a few feet away, then turns back to Liam.

A bit of an awkward silence falls between them then—as silent as it can get in a crowded bar on a Friday night—and Liam suddenly feels bad, finding Harry in his off-time, asking him about his life when clearly he wants to be left alone. It suddenly occurs to Liam—and the thought makes him sick, but he blurts it out anyway before he can stop himself, “Did you leave because of me?”

Harry raises his brows in shock, but doesn’t say anything. So Liam rambles on.

“I’ve come to the hospital a couple times a week since our sessions, and I always ask about you, to see what you’re up to…if you want to meet me for coffee…or…just say hello…” Liam is absolutely drowning. He can hear it in his voice, the thinly-veiled desperation there, like a dam waiting to burst. “But… I realize now that I’ve been out of line, and I’m so sorry. I’ll leave you alone. I just—thank you, for your help, getting me better. You’re really good at what you do.”

Harry is still looking at him, wide-eyed and slow-blinking, but with a frown gradually dipping in his brows. Liam waits for one beat, two, then nods quickly—just one quick jerk of his head—and starts to leave the table. 

“Wait—” Harry reaches out, so fast it’s a blur, and grabs for Liam’s arm. He touches the skin there with fingertips that burn like hot coals. 

At that very moment, thunder rumbles around the building outside, long and sharp like the crack of a whip. The lights flicker, go out, and come back on again. The sudden lack of music makes the gasps of everybody in the bar sound loud and clear. 

Liam barely notices. Harry is holding his arm, and the singing in his head has never been louder. The watery melody of it taking over every thought, drowning out his mind until it’s the only thing there. Singing like he’s just stepped through heaven’s gates.

And then suddenly, someone’s pulling at his shoulders, backing him away from Harry’s hot grasp. The singing dies back down to a whisper, clearing the fog of his mind long enough to realize that the music is still off in the bar, and one of the bartenders is announcing technical difficulties. The two guys holding him back, the ones who were playing darts just a moment ago, let him go after a few seconds pass.

“Holy shit!” One of them laughs, fingers combing through his shock of blonde hair. “That was wild!”

“What the fuck just happened?” The dark-haired one on Liam’s other side mutters, gazing at Liam through narrowed eyes, then over at Harry, who somehow manages to look like a startled puppy, curling in on himself in his chair. “Is this? Jesus christ, Haz. Okay.”

“I was just outside a minute ago and it wasn’t even cloudy—” Liam hears someone saying a few feet away. “How the fuck did it just start thundering?”

“Hey—you’re gonna come with us now, okay?” The dark-haired man looks at Liam again, but this time his eyes are softer, like liquid honey. Mesmerizing. And Liam finds himself nodding before he even realizes what he’s agreeing to. 

“Stop, Zayn. This isn’t necessary. I have it under control.” Harry’s saying, out of his seat now and flanking the dark-haired guy’s other side. 

Zayn scoffs. “Under control, huh?” The four of them are walking outside now, Liam still in a bit of a daze, being ushered along by the blonde. But when he looks up into the sky, he finds that he sobers up quickly.

“Jesus…” There’s dark, rolling storm clouds above their heads, pregnant with rain, circling the little bar like birds of prey stalking their next meal. As he watches them, he sees a quick flash of white light, then shortly after, there’s the tell-tale crack of more thunder. But the strange part isn’t the storm; it’s the way the dark, nimbus clouds seem to spread so quickly, bleeding across the sky, long tendrils stretching, hiding the stars. And the whole of it seems to edge out from the one little patch of sky over the bar.

“Pretty cool, huh?” The blonde guy grins and nudges Liam in the shoulder before tilting his head back, gazing up with him. “Never gets old.”

 

It doesn’t take long for Liam to give up arguing and finally hand Louis’ car keys over to the blonde guy, (Niall, he discovers) to drive and follow behind them while they ride in Harry’s black Range Rover. Liam basically turned to putty the moment Harry looked at him and told him it was okay. 

Less than five minutes later, Harry pulls the Range Rover into the driveway of a small, lavender house in a quiet neighborhood and cuts the engine. Niall parks Louis’ car on the street—a complete eyesore amidst the picturesque deep green lawns and pastel-painted, mailboxes.

“That was fast,” Liam comments, taking off his seatbelt and opening the passenger side door to get out.

“Would have been even faster if Haz didn’t drive like a little old woman,” Zayn teases, tousling Harry’s curls a little before climbing out himself. Liam sees the movement and feels something drop in his chest. _Maybe he’s not alone._

“Yeah well, at least I have my license.” Harry smirks, dimple cratering into his cheek.

Zayn laughs. Swings an arm around Harry’s shoulder and starts to walk him up the short drive. “You got me there, Styles.”

Liam stands behind, feeling like he’s been soaked in gasoline and set on fire all in less than a second. He thinks maybe he finally understands what people mean when they say “my heart fell out of my ass”. 

“Hey,” Niall comes up beside him, temporarily distracting Liam from his own internal torture to say, “They’re not together, mate, no worries. They’ve been best friends since high school, so they do shit like that all the time, it’s nothing.”

A tiny bit of relief. Liam manages to nod and pull himself together long enough to walk up to the house behind Niall. 

 

It surprises Liam, how clean the place is, considering it’s inhabited by three bachelors in their early twenties. It looks like something right out of a magazine; the old hardwood floors gleam as they walk in, and the furniture pieces are extremely minimalistic and light-colored. There’s hardly any clutter at all, aside from a few books stacked precariously on the coffee table in the living room, and a couple mugs lining one side of the kitchen sink. 

But it quickly becomes clear who’s in charge of keeping things in line. Liam watches as Harry goes behind the other two boys without thinking, arranging their shoes—which they pulled off and left in the center of the floor—along with his own, in a nice, neat line inside the hall closet. once he’s done, he looks to Liam, his hands already reaching out expectantly. 

Liam takes off his heavy boots and places them in the closet himself, earning a small smile from Harry that sends shivers down Liam’s spine. “They shouldn’t expect you to clean up after them like that,” He murmurs to Harry as they both stand up again. 

Harry opens his mouth to answer, but doesn’t get a chance to, since Zayn rounds the corner then, an apple in hand that he’s already bit off of once. “We all do our part here,” He says, eyeing Liam pointedly. “Harry cleans up, and in return Niall does all the cooking. I take care of the yard and fix stuff.”

Liam raises an eyebrow, amused. “You fix stuff,”

“He likes to tinker,” Harry explains, looking back and forth between them. “He’s good with his hands.”

Zayn smirks. “Yeah, I am.”

Harry blushes bright red, then brings both his hands up to cover his face. “Fuck off, you know that’s not what I meant.” He groans, slightly muffled, but he’s also laughing.

Niall pops his head around the corner, then, seemingly oblivious to what they’d been talking about. “Hey Payne, you want a beer?”

Liam tears his eyes away from Harry, nods a little too quickly. “Yes. Yes, thank you.”

“Make yourself at home.” Zayn eyes Liam again, sizing him up, then turns to smile at Harry. “Can we speak with you alone for a sec, Curly?”

Harry looks like he’d rather do anything else, but he still heads into the kitchen anyway, shooting an apologetic glance back at Liam before disappearing. A moment later, Niall pops back into the hall one more time, now with an ice cold beer in hand that he passes to Liam. “The remote’s on the side table if you wanna watch some tele,” He offers.

 

Liam finds himself doing just that a couple minutes later. He wished there was something to look at, like photographs, or video games, or art on the walls that could let him see a little bit into Harry’s life; what he likes to do, where he went to school, how he blows off steam after a long day. But there isn’t much but clean surfaces and simple art pieces to look at. Beautiful, but impersonal. The books on the table don’t tell Liam much either; just a few different hardbound copies of Greek Mythology tales and epic poems. They didn’t look like they’d ever been read.

The television’s volume is turned on low—the channel turned to a game of golf that Liam has absolutely no interest in—so it’s easy to hear the low voices coming from the kitchen. He shouldn't eavesdrop, he knows, but the whole night’s been pretty weird, and he can hear the discussion beginning to get heated.

“We can’t,” Harry’s stressing, trying hard to keep his voice below a whisper. “It’s way too dangerous. What if he—”

“Haz if this is real, you don’t really have a choice.” Zayn cuts. “It’s too late. No matter what you do, no matter where you go—he’ll find you.”

“Harry?” Liam steps into the kitchen then, startling all three men into shocked silence. Harry looks like he’s seeing a ghost.

“Let’s test this out.” Zayn continues, ignoring Liam’s entrance and turning to stare at Harry. “Right now.”

Liam frowns, confused.

“Zayn—” Niall warns. 

Harry hugs his arms around his middle, bites his lip. He looks like he might cry, or yell, or something else entirely. Liam can feel Harry’s energy rolling off of him in waves, seeping through Liam’s skin until he’s harboring it, too. 

“Liam,” Zayn suddenly turns his attention to him, his expression stoic as he takes his e-cig out of his pocket. “What do you remember, when Harry touched you at the bar?”

Liam tries to think about it, but his mind is like sludge; every thought coming in slow and weighted down. “The lights went out,” He finally manages. 

Zayn nods, blows a cloud of grape-scented smoke through his lips. He pretends not to see Harry’s hard glare, boring a hole into the side of his face. “And?”

“And…” Liam hears it before he can even say it. The song in his head, like it’s coming to him from the bottom of an ocean, so faint he almost doesn’t notice it. Not like it was in the bar, when it was all Liam could hear. “Singing.” He says, bringing a shaky hand to his head, running fingers through his hair. 

Niall looks at him with a small smile—pity, and something else—and puts a hand on Liam’s shoulder, squeezing encouragement. 

Harry holds himself a little tighter. “Alright, Z. That’s enough.” He whispers.

“Payne—” Zayn turns his gaze, directs his undivided attention suddenly on Liam. Once again drowning him in soft honey and long eyelashes. Smothering him until Liam feels so light-headed he can barely remember his own name. “Take Harry’s hand, please.”

And it’s like a dream; Liam feels himself walking across the room, watches with curiosity as his hand reaches out to grasp Harry’s where it’s balled into a fist at his waist. Warm, smooth knuckles under his palm. Liam hears the singing enter his head like the rising hum of a church choir. Louder and louder, lifting him, making his heart pound so heavily he thinks it might stop. It’s so beautiful, he thinks. 

Harry’s so beautiful.

Liam hears himself murmur the words aloud, reaching with his free hand to run a single finger along the line of Harry’s jaw, across his plump bottom lip, into the dip of his chin. Harry looks at him the whole time with clear, impossibly bright sea-glass eyes. Barely breathing as Liam touches him over and over, making his cheeks blush pink.

Niall is the one who finally pulls them apart. Holding Liam by his shoulders, like last time. Keeping Harry at bay with an outstretched hand. A few moments pass, and then the cloud in Liam’s brain has dissipated, leaving him shaking and confused.

“What the hell was that?” Liam demands, shouting the accusation at Zayn. “What was in that beer?”

“Come on now, we never drugged you.” Niall says behind him, sounding mildly offended.

“It’s Harry,” Zayn says, putting his e-cig down on the counter and crossing his thin arms over his chest. “The singing in your head, the feeling like you’re drunk…your heart slamming in your chest so hard it leaves you breathless.”

Liam looks over at Harry, who is avoiding his gaze, staring down at his shoes. “Wha—”

“Come on, Z. Let’s give them some privacy, alright?” Niall lets go of Liam and puts his arms around Zayn’s shoulders instead, ushering him a little forcefully out of the kitchen. Liam thinks he hears Zayn mutter “ow” once or twice on the way into the hallway. 

“I’m so sorry about this,” Harry says, pulling Liam’s attention away from the door. He’s sitting at the kitchen table, slumped over with his face in his hands, curls spilling over them and grazing the tabletop. Liam doesn’t have to think before coming over to sit beside him. But when he moves to place his hand on Harry’s back, he hesitates before just pulling it away. 

“I don’t really understand what’s going on,” Liam admits. “At all… But you have nothing to apologize for.”

“I should apologize for Zayn, at least.” Harry sniffs, cracking just the tiniest bit of a smile as he sits up and scrubs a fist over both eyes. 

“He’s an asshole,” Liam mutters, then winces. “Sorry,”

But Harry just shakes his head and laughs, loud and startling, like a goose squawk. A pure burst of unadulterated giggles from the core. 

It makes Liam laugh too, hard enough to make his cheeks hurt. And just like that the tension in the room dissipates, leaving just the two of them, and this thing between them that neither of them understands. “So that’s you? The singing?” He asks quietly, leaving the smile on his face to let Harry know it’s okay. “Pretty impressive party trick, that is.”

“Yeah. It only works with you, though, so not much theater in that,” Harry says.

“Glad I get to be special.”

Harry smirks. “I can hear you in my head, too. Kind of.”

Liam’s shocked at this, his eyebrows flying up. “Really? Like what?”

Harry shrugs, a little bashful about it, or maybe not. “It’s not much, really. Just some of your thoughts, I guess? They’re really muffled, so it’s hard to hear them…most of the time. But just now, when we were—I could hear them clearly.”

Liam clears his throat, feels a blush spreading over his own cheeks for once. “Yeah? What did they say?”

Harry’s smirk deepens, his dimple burrowing further into his cheek. He casts his gaze down coyly, taking a long time to answer. “You really, really like my eyes.”

Liam is beyond mortified, but he won’t deny it. “I do,”

“And my lips,”

“Yes,” It’s becoming a little harder to breathe.

“And you wanna kiss me,” Harry whispers the last part, his gaze locked on Liam’s mouth like he’s studying it. 

“Would you like to kiss me, too?” Liam asks, still afraid of the answer. His poor heart is racing faster than it ever has, thrumming like a hummingbird’s wings.

Harry doesn’t answer. Just starts leaning in, his eyes closing as he takes in a shaky breath. It’s unreal; watching something as simple as the possibility of a kiss unravel Harry at his seams. And Liam is already there, wanting it so badly every part of his body is bracing for it, waiting to fall back in that headspace again, where all he knows is Harry’s touch.

But it doesn’t come. Liam doesn’t even realize he has his eyes closed until he opens them to see Harry sitting back in his chair again, touching his bottom lip with a frown on his face. 

“Sorry,” Liam’s immediate response is to apologize. He sits straight again, scratching the back of his head and hoping Harry doesn’t see how embarrassed he is. “Sorry, I—misread things,”

Harry speaks hesitantly. “Um—no, I…” He bites his lip, lets it go. “I’m sorry too,”

Liam clears his throat, stands from the table while trying to look anywhere but at Harry. “I’m gonna head out, I think. I’ll um—I’ll see you around.”

He doesn’t hear Harry’s reply until he’s already in the hallway, dodging Niall and Zayn’s curious glances to head for the front door.

It’s quiet, trailing like there’s more to it that he isn’t saying. Can’t or won’t say. “Bye Liam,”

And Liam goes.


	2. Two

**Three Days Later**

 

    Liam’s shit-faced at four o’ clock in the afternoon when he answers his phone. He nearly drops it trying to put it to his face, and even then he has it upside down. He’s chortling out a laugh over it with Louis when he hears a familiar voice coming through the speaker. 

    "Liam? Liam are you there?" Harry asks into the phone. Hearing his voice for the first time in days makes Liam's heart jump into his throat. 

    "Harry? Yeah, I-I'm here. Hey…” Trying and failing to keep the stutter out of his voice.

    Harry laughs a little. "Are you day drinking?"

    Liam panics, looks at Louis with wide eyes, but Louis' too busy downing another shot. "Um......no?"

    "Alright then," Harry doesn't argue with him. 

    "I'm sorry—about the other night," Liam blurts it, trying to beat Harry to the punch. "I shouldn’t have tried to ki— …I mean, you don't even know me that well, so—”

    There's silence on the other end for a while after Liam stutters out his apology. Long enough that Liam's suddenly terrified that Harry’s hung up on him. He checks, but the call's still going.

    "Liam I got your number from Natasha, I hope that’s okay. I wanted to see if maybe we could talk? Today?”

    Liam forgets how to breathe. Then remembers again, all at once, blood rushing to his face. “Yeah—of course, Harry, yeah.”

    In his peripheral vision, Liam spots Louis smirking at him and making some obscene gestures with his hands like they’re in middle school again. Liam ignores him.

    “Okay, great.” Harry sounds relieved, Liam thinks. Maybe. “Text me the location and I can just come to you then… Not because you're day drinking—because you’re obviously not.” There's a smile in Harry's voice, and it makes Liam smile, too.

“Alright, see you in a bit.”

 

    Harry texts Liam and asks him to meet him outside. _I’ll be there in a few minutes, and I was hoping we could speak in private?_

    So Liam waits outside the front doors, smoking to ease his nerves. He feels the looseness in his limbs from the alcohol, but his thoughts are clear, loud inside his head like someone’s yelling them through a megaphone. He can't wait to see Harry's face again. To maybe trace the curve of his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. He wants to hear his voice, watch the way the sunlight filters through his hair and makes it shine golden, like when they were back at the hospital and the sunset would outline Harry in a soft yellow glow from the open windows.

Liam wants so much with Harry. Things he’s never even thought about before with anyone else. 

Two minutes later, when Liam sees Harry's black Range Rover pull up, he starts walking up to the vehicle before it's even fully parked. He waits for the doors to unlock, then pulls the passenger side open and gets inside. Harry’s sitting in the driver’s seat, curls flowing down along his shoulders and a peacoat on over a light blue shirt unbuttoned to the middle of his chest.

    The singing starts again in Liam’s head, and he welcomes it.

    "Hey," He manages, cause he can't come up with anything better, and Harry's looking at him in that way he has; like he's both curious and amused at the same time, a smile just barely creeping at the edges of his lips. 

    "Hey," Harry replies, a little breathless himself. "Sorry for this, I just—I wanted to say this before I lost my nerve."

    Liam nods, a little wary. “Okay,”

    “Liam, I've been afraid to be honest with you because I thought I'd run you away. Make you think I was some sort of freak—” Harry's words fall out of his mouth all at once, like he's been holding them back. "I want this to work with us, I just—“

    Us. Liam’s smile gets away from him, and he can barely hold it back. "Me too," He replies, but the words sound way too small for what he feels.

    “Listen, there's something I have to tell you." Harry says, blinking up at him, eyes wet. "It was me—the reason you totaled your truck that night."

    It throws Liam off; the reminder of that night reeling him back in time to a month ago, when he was driving home from work, and he lost control. "What do you mean?" He asks belatedly, not understanding.

    "You heard singing—Natasha told me that's what you said." Harry explained. “That was me,”

Liam shakes his head, scratches at the back of his neck. “How? Like, on the radio?”

Harry sniffs, right on the verge of tears, but he laughs anyway. “No, I—I was singing in the park that night as you drove by. Just singing to myself as I was walking, and I didn’t think anyone was around that could hear me. But you heard me, somehow. And when people hear me sing, bad things happen.”

“Bad things like what?” Liam can’t help but ask. “You didn’t cause my accident, Harry. I got distracted—it was my fault.”

But Harry’s adamant. “Liam, I’m—dangerous, okay? Zayn and I, we’re descended from Sirens. Our ancestors were cursed thousands of years ago, and I have these… abilities…. I can make people do horrible things. I made you veer out of your lane, lose control of the wheel. I didn’t mean to, but… It was me. That’s what I was trying to tell you.”

It’s all too much for Liam’s sluggish, drunk brain. Like rolling smooth stones in his palm over and over and letting them all go. “Are you…magic?”

“Not quite.” Harry almost whispers, a smile claiming his lips. 

“Well,” Liam frowns, reaching over to brush a lock of Harry’s hair out of his eyes, which flutter closed with the contact. “You’re magic to me.”

The car is quiet for a long moment after that. Just Liam stroking his fingers through Harry’s hair, and Harry keeping his eyes shut, breathing slow, until finally, “Liam?”

“Yes?”

“I think I’d like you to kiss me now,”

 

There’s a church choir in his head again, haunting him in layered falsettos, dipping and wavering through a watery melody that makes a shiver run down his spine. And under it all, Liam can hear Harry; the familiar rasp of his voice, almost whispering in the background of his mind, _closer, closer, closer_.

Liam lets himself breathe into the kiss, taking in the slow move of Harry’s lips against his, and the taste of his tongue—something sweet and subtle that Liam knows he’ll never tire of. When he squeezes at Harry’s waist, taking hold of the extra flesh there, loving the way it fills his hands, Harry absolutely melts against him. It all feels so good—the warmth of Harry’s body, the soft moans he lets out every time Liam kisses him harder, pushes him a little further back into his seat.

And Liam knows Harry can hear what he’s thinking—that his thoughts are somehow making their way through thick curls and soft skin and finding a home in Harry’s mind. So he thinks, with everything he can muster; _This is all I want. This is all I have ever wanted._

 

Two weeks later, Liam gets in his car—a rental, until he can get something else through his insurance—and drives straight to Harry’s place after work, his bags packed and ready for the weekend trip he’s been looking forward to for days. 

“The beach?” He’d asked when Harry brought it up during one of their nightly FaceTimes (Harry’s idea, so they can get to know each other first, without the pull of physical attraction getting in the way and making things messy). 

“Yeah, Zayn’s family owns a beach house a few hours away. Just something small with a nice view, but it’s empty for the fall, so they said we’re allowed to use it as much as we like.” Harry explains, already grinning. He’s sitting in bed, a green t-shirt that’s way too big on him draped over his shoulders. His legs are bare, Liam realizes; a tiny patch of golden skin visible right between the hem of Harry’s t-shirt and the screen cut-off. 

He averts his eyes, tries to forget about it and focus on what Harry’s saying.

“So we’d be going for a few days?” Liam asks.

Harry nods, leaning over to do something for a moment before shuffling his laptop around on his lap. “Yeah, I thought we’d make a weekend out of it.” He glances up at Liam, a little smirk on his lips. “Long walks on the beach and all that,”

Liam laughs, can feel something in his chest warm him like he’s been sitting by a fire. “Okay Haz. Beach Weekend it is.”

 

By the time Liam makes it to Harry’s house after work that Friday night, he’s already imagining a dozen different moments between them; lying on their backs in the sand watching the sky and waiting for it to set; tracing the tendons along the backs of Harry’s hands and kissing up his neck so slowly he leaves lingering marks; Harry climbing on top of him and riding him with a circle of his hips under a veil of blankets. 

Liam’s getting ahead of himself, he knows. But he still can’t wait to get to the beach.

At least until he realizes he and Harry won’t be going alone. 

“Glad you could make it, Payne.” Zayn’s the one to answer the door, already dressed in flip flops and shorts with a duffel bag strapped over his arm. His expression is unamused and disdainful as Liam steps inside. Although subtle enough that anyone else looking at him wouldn’t be able to tell, Liam can feel it. 

“Well, Harry asked me to come.” Liam counters, trying to bite back the rest of the words forming on his tongue. 

Zayn doesn’t say anything, just pulls out his e-cig and puts it to his mouth before walking past him out the front door. Liam’s happy to see him go.

“Hey Niall,” He greets, setting his bags down for a moment as he steps further into the house. 

“Payne!” Niall welcomes him with open arms, pulling him in so tight it knocks the breath out of him. “This is going to be so much fun. Happy to have you with us this time.”

Liam beams, even blushes a little. As much as Zayn gets under his skin, Niall more than makes up for it with his bright smile and carefree nature. He just sucks all the tension out of the room like a human-sized stress ball. 

“Where’s Harry?” Liam finally asks, looking around when he doesn’t hear anyone else coming down the hall. 

“He’s in the kitchen, going over everything to make sure we don’t forget anything.” Niall laughs. “Tell him we need to get on the road soon if we’re gonna make it there by morning.”

Liam nods, already looking towards the kitchen. “Okay,”

Niall’s eyes follow Liam’s, and he smiles. “Don’t be too long in there,” He chuckles and heaves his bags and Liam’s onto his shoulders, then walks out the door before Liam can protest.

Liam finds Harry standing in front of the kitchen table, his back to the door as he stares at an assortment of stuff. Various items of clothing, snack foods, cooking materials, a first aid kit, bottled water, etc. Harry’s frowning at it, seems to be calculating something. 

“Haz?” Liam walks in, then over to Harry, putting a hand on his lower back that sends a visible shiver through his body. Harry stops counting, his eyes fluttering shut, and a smile slowly stretches over his face.

“You came,” He says, grinning.

Liam smooths his hand up Harry’s back and down again, curving into the dip of his spine. “Of course I did.” He said. Then, remembering what Zayn said, “Did you think I wouldn’t show?”

Harry bites his lip as he looks at Liam, green eyes dancing a little. “Um—no—but Zayn said maybe it was too early to start asking you on trips, so—” He stumbles through the words, dropping his gaze. “It is really sudden, I’m sorry. If it’s too soon, I understand, you don’t have to go—”

Liam kisses Harry, softly, but with a barely-contained desire that has Harry gripping the edge of the table to keep from falling back onto it. The singing’s there again, but not as loud in Liam’s head, so now he can hear the breaths Harry takes, and the little wanting sounds he makes in the back of his throat. The realization makes Liam dizzy, makes him wanna find out what other sounds he can get Harry to make. 

It’s the hardest thing to do, but he breaks the kiss after a few moments, pulling away just far enough so the tips of their noses are bumping. Both of them are smiling like crazy, breathless, flushed cheeks. Liam’s got a grip on the front of Harry’s shirt in one hand, and the other settled right above his hip. Harry’s hands are cupping the back of Liam’s neck and head, warm fingertips pressing into his skin. “I’ve been really looking forward to this, okay?” Liam murmurs, glancing down at Harry’s lips, thinking about all the times he wants to kiss them. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

 

Liam’s driving. Initially Harry was, but he was promptly voted out from behind the wheel when ten minutes in, he still hadn’t pushed the car over 45mph. 

“I would have sped up on the highway,” Harry argued, grumbling as he switched with Liam and sat in the back with Niall. 

Liam was hoping Zayn would give up his seat on the passenger side, so Harry could sit there instead, but Zayn didn’t budge, and Liam tried not to be too annoyed by it. 

 

For a while, it isn’t too bad. Liam follows the GPS, listens to his favorite driving playlist, and chimes in on Niall and Harry’s constant conversation every once in a while. They’re playing a game, at the moment; pointing out the most unusual license plates they can find. 

“I see South Dakota!” Harry chimes, pushing his finger against the window to point it out to Niall.

“Shut up, no you don’t,” Niall calls, but he still nearly climbs in Harry’s lap to see out the window and make sure. 

“You’re right, I don’t.” Harry finally admits with a smirk. “But you believed me when I said I saw one from Alaska—so I figured it would work again.”

Niall narrows his eyes and pokes a finger in Harry’s side as revenge. Harry screeches out a laugh, then tries and fails to retaliate.

Liam listens to them the whole time, laughing along, until Zayn finally gets bored with being silent and decides to ask Liam a question.

“So what kind of guys do you normally date, Payne?”

Liam almost chokes on a chuckle. “What?”

“What kind of guys do you normally date? Thin guys? Blonde guys? Guys who wear a lot of bowties—” Zayn continues, a small smile on his face, as if he’s making innocent conversation.

“Zayn, stop it.” Liam hears Harry say, all the laughter in his voice suddenly gone. Even Niall’s gone silent beside him.

“Um…just nice guys.” Liam replies, determined not to let Zayn get any further under his skin. 

“So you have dated guys before? You’re out, and all that?”

“Zayn, chill,” Niall warns.

Liam shuts off the music and looks over at Zayn. “Yeah. I have, and I am.”

“What was your longest relationship?”

Liam grips the steering wheel a little tighter. “I don’t really think it’s any of your business.”

“So…just hookups, then?” Zayn presses.

“ _ZAYN._ ” Harry’s nearly yelling it.

“Is that what you’re waiting for?” Zayn’s looking directly at Liam now, his voice low and threatening. “Just want to see what Haz is like in bed, then take off the first chance you get? That what you want, Payne?”

Liam isn’t fully aware of pulling the car over, or of getting out of it, but the next thing he knows, he’s standing in the parking lot of some diner, yanking open the passenger side door and grabbing the collar of Zayn’s shirt in his fist. “What’s your problem with me, huh? What do you want?” He demands.

Liam feels something cold and wet drop onto his face then. He looks up, sees the light grey rainclouds hovering in the sky where they hadn’t been before. 

“Haz?” Zayn shakes free of Liam’s grasp, and Liam lets him. “Haz, you okay?”

Niall and Harry are both standing next to the car, Harry’s eyes wet with hurt and anger as he looks at them, especially Zayn. 

“ _No, I’m not fucking okay._ ” He says, then ducks his head against the rain and heads straight for the old diner. 

Zayn tries to follow, but Niall grabs his shoulder, holds him back. “The two of you need to work this out, whatever the fuck it is.” Niall grits, suddenly seeming years older as he stares at Zayn like a child that needs to be chastised. “Harry doesn’t deserve this.”

Niall follows after Harry, leaving Zayn and Liam to stand in awkward silence. 

Liam runs a hand across his face, and Zayn leans against the side of the truck, already fishing in his pocket, this time for a real pack of cigs. Liam’s more than a little surprised when he hears him speak first.

“You know what my problem is with you?” Zayn says, pulling out one, two, cigarettes from the pack and handing one to Liam, who stares at him in bewilderment. “Harry really likes you.”

Liam scoffs, but lets Zayn give him a light. “So it’s jealousy then.”

Zayn shakes his head, a little distractedly, like he’s thinking hard about something. “No, not jealousy… I was Harry’s first everything when we were teenagers. He knew I wouldn’t hurt him.” Zayn says. 

He’s not bragging about it, but it still makes something sink to the pit of Liam’s stomach as he listens. 

“…I try to keep him from getting hurt by the guys he dates,” Zayn continues. “But I can’t always protect him. His last boyfriend, Tom, was the worst. They dated three years, almost. And Harry thought it was the real thing—even talked about marriage once or twice—but the whole time they were together, Harry managed to keep his... heritage....a secret. Pretended to be normal… When Harry finally told the guy what he was, it was too much. A couple months later, Tom took off, said he couldn’t handle it.”

“Jesus,” Liam murmurs, looking down at his shoes, blowing smoke through his lips. He can only imagine the way Harry must have felt. He doesn’t like the thought. 

“Yeah.” Zayn mutters. “Asshole.”

Liam nods in agreement. Then, “Harry’s already told me what he is. I’ve witnessed what he can do firsthand. And I still want to be with him.”

Zayn looks at Liam, a small smile on his lips. “I know. I see the way you look at him. I just have to be sure… It’s different with you.”

“What do you mean?” Liam asks, but Zayn’s looking at something on his phone now, cigarette balanced on the edge of his lips as he types a reply to a text. 

“They ordered for us.” He mumbles as best he can. When he’s holding the cigarette in his fingers again, he adds, “They’re allowing us to come in and join them now, if we can be civil.”

 

Niall must’ve been working his charms while they were away, because Harry’s entire face lights up with a smile when Liam and Zayn enter the diner side by side, seemingly in pleasant moods again. “Hey,” Harry greets, scooting over in the booth as Liam slides in on his left. 

“Hey,” Liam grins, taking Harry’s hand under the table. “Listen, I’m sorry I acted like such an ass.”

“I’m sorry too, Haz.” Zayn adds, scooting in next to Niall. “Liam’s alright, I suppose…” A crinkly-eyed smirk spreads across Zayn’s face and Harry smiles.

“Guys I’m loving this therapy session, but can one of you take a break from it and pass me the onion rings?” Niall says, his voice muffled by the huge bite of bacon burger he was already trying to chew. 

The other three laughed, then obliged him before he got too grabby.

 

“Fuck, I’m stuffed!” Niall sighs, patting his belly once he’s finished chewing the last bit of Harry’s unfinished club sandwich. 

“Yeah, you oughta be,” Zayn says, making a face at him.

“Did we want to do any dessert tonight, gentlemen?” The waitress asks when she comes by to clear their plates. 

Niall hums, looks at Zayn, and Zayn rolls his eyes. “Can we see the menu?”

When the girl goes to find one, Harry shakes his head at both boys. “Niall, you’re going to explode. And Zayn, you’ve been eyeing their apple pie since you saw it in the dessert case thirty minutes ago.”

Zayn huffs. “Well aren’t you getting dessert, too?”

Liam looks at Harry, knocks their knees together a little. “Wanna split a slice with me?”

Harry blinks up at Liam, a smirk on his lips. “No, I don’t think I want any dessert here.”

“Where else then?” Niall snorts. “If I don’t get to stop for a late-night scoop of ice-cream on the drive, then neither do you.”

“Yeah, don’t think I’ve ever heard you turning down something sweet before, Styles.” Zayn teases. 

“You should get something, Haz,” Liam urges, wanting Harry to have a nice time. It’s a shitty old diner, and the entire place reeks of old people and cigarette smoke, but if Harry wants dessert, he should get dessert.

“Nope, all full!” Harry says quickly, then slaps Liam’s thigh under the table, telling him to move. “See you two in the car!”

Harry all but yanks Liam’s arm off, pulling him back to the truck outside. It’s dark, and there’s only a couple more cars in the parking lot. The only light is coming from the passing cars on the road, and the soft yellow glow from inside the diner. Harry clicks the ‘unlock’ button on his keys and pulls Liam into the backseat with him.

“Harry—” Liam can barely get a word out before Harry’s kissing him, pressing him against the leather seat, digging his fingers into Liam’s short hair as he moves in closer.

Harry’s already half-hard, and the realization makes Liam feel light-headed with want.

“Wait—” He breathes against Harry’s open mouth, groaning as Harry straddles his leg and grinds down. “Harry, wait—”

Finally, Harry hears him and pulls away, looking startled. “Shit, I’m sorry.” He mumbles, blushing bright red. “I’m sorry, I thought—” He ducks his head, already climbing away from Liam, but Liam grips his hips, pulls him closer again. 

“Harry, Harry, Harry,” He says; softly, like he’s cooing the name. “I want this. I want you. Fuck, I mean—look at you.” He trails his hands from Harry’s hips, to his thighs, sliding back around to squeeze the perky flesh of his ass through his jeans. Harry sighs at the touches, leaning into them.

“Harry, you’re fucking gorgeous.”

Harry smiles—his cheeks flushed, but this time from praise. “Yeah?” He asks softly. Then frowns. “But you don’t want to do this now,”

Liam bites his lip. Every part of his body is screaming to be touched by Harry. To let this slim, curly-haired beauty find pleasure in him however he so pleases. “I don’t want you thinking what Zayn said earlier is true.” He sighs. “I want you, but I want all of you.”

“I believe you,” Harry whispers, leaning his forehead against Liam’s.

Liam hums, feels every ounce of stress leave his body because Harry’s in his arms. “Yeah, but I wanna prove it to you, babe.”

Harry groans a little, making a fuss, but ultimately he’s absolutely beaming. Melting into Liam, kissing down the side of his face, and his neck, and his shoulders through his t-shirt. “Can I give you a hand job at least?” He murmurs behind Liam’s ear, his fingers ghosting over the line of his zipper. “Really wanna feel you hard for me…”

Liam feels all the blood rush from his head at the way Harry’s absolutely purring the words, breathing hot air on sensitive skin. If he had any less self control, he would have come right there. 

“You are,” Liam grunts, listening as Harry undoes his zipper. “A fucking menace, Harry Styles.”

And Harry actually giggles, delighted with himself, as he finally takes Liam in his hand. “Fuck,” He curses, licking his lips as he looks down between them and starts slowly stroking Liam’s dick. Harry’s hands feel like velvet, and Liam’s already leaking so much it’s an easy slide. “Can’t wait for you to fuck me,” Harry whispers in Liam’s ear, picking up speed with his hands. “Wanna ride you ‘till your eyes roll back.”

The moan Liam lets out ends up being more of a broken growl through gritted teeth. “Fuck, Haz, fuck—”

“Gonna be so dirty for you,” Harry slurs, half gone himself as he grinds down on Liam’s leg. “Gonna be your good boy,”

“Jesus fucking—” Liam chokes, gripping the door handle. Harry’s hand is moving in a blur now, the sounds of wet flesh filling up the car. It’s absolutely filthy. 

Harry’s leaving open-mouthed kisses along his neck, hot and wet. Rutting down faster on Liam’s leg and getting close himself even as he continues bringing Liam to the edge with his hand. “Liam,” Harry gasps, nudging his forehead into the groove of his shoulder. “Liam…want you…” A barely-contained whimper, and a high moan, muffled into the shoulder of his t-shirt. Liam’s already coming in Harry’s fist when he feels the wet spot forming on his thigh. 

“Shit,” Liam breathes, his chest heaving. He looks at Harry, incredulous. “A menace,” He repeats.

Harry’s already smiling, dimple cratering in his cheek as he wipes up Liam’s come with the hem of Liam’s t-shirt. The last little bit, on the edge of his fist, he licks into his mouth, watching in amusement as Liam’s face goes slack. “Well,” Harry smirks. “Now you’ll know what you’re missing.”

 

Harry’s shuffling around behind the last row of seats, searching through their bags for a fresh pair of jeans and a t-shirt when his phone lights up with a text from Zayn. It’s none of his business, so Liam tries to look away, but it’s too late, and he reads the text preview.

“Oh god—” He groans, laughing and blushing. Harry turns around at the sound, a curious frown on his face. “Zayn wants to know if it’s safe to come back to the car now.”

Harry huffs, shakes his head with a small smile as he passes Liam a t-shirt and goes about shrugging off his own come-stained jeans in favor of a new pair.

Harry’s phone lights up again. _Niall: Roll down the windows - don’t let the scent of sweat and semen sink into the leather, for the love of god_

“He can fuck off,” Harry laughs when Liam reads it to him. Then he reaches for the phone and types back exactly that. 

 

The rest of the drive goes smoothly. Once Zayn and Niall get back in the car, and Harry comes up front in the passenger seat, Liam takes the wheel and pulls out of the small diner parking lot, back onto the highway, headed for the beach. Not much later, the other three boys fall asleep, snoring softly with their heads lolling back on their seats. Harry looks even more ethereal asleep than awake, Liam thinks. Pink lips parted just the slightest bit, long eyelashes resting on flushed cheeks, and dark curls twisting along the sides of his face. Angelic.

 

By 2am, they’re twenty minutes from their destination, and Harry blinks awake to help navigate the rest of the way in his low, sleepy voice. Like the soft crunch of gravel under slow-rolling car tires. 

“It’s right up here,” Harry murmurs, pulling the neck of his t-shirt up to his chin. 

They end up at a small beach house about a quarter of a mile out from the ocean. It’s got a wall of windows on two sides, and a wrap-around porch that the four of them linger on for the time it takes Zayn to fumble the keys out of his pocket. When he finally gets the door open, they walk inside, bags in tow. The house is dark, and that’s the way they keep it. 

There’s two bedrooms, so they split up. Niall and Zayn bunking in one room, and Harry and Liam in the other. Once they’re in the room, Harry immediately shucks off his shirt and shoes and climbs on top of the covers in nothing but his jeans. He pulls a pillow to his chin and looks up at Liam, a few locks of hair curling over his eyes. 

Liam smiles at him, but stands a little awkwardly in the middle of the room, plucking at a loose string on his backpack. “Is this a good idea, Haz?” He asks.

Harry blinks a couple times, sighs before burying his face in the pillow. “If you wanna sleep on the couch, you can.” He murmurs. And Liam can hear the smirk in his voice when he adds, “But I think Zayn’s parents like to have sex on it when they’re here, so…”

Liam doesn’t argue after that. Just shakes his head and resigns to setting down his bag and pulling on some more comfortable clothes. “Don’t peek,” He warns Harry with mock-seriousness.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Harry slurs, but Liam sees him obviously staring from behind the veil of his hair. “I’d give your ass a 10/10 though, if you were wondering.”

“When did Harry Styles become such a flirt?” Liam chuckles, sliding onto the bed beside Harry. The unfamiliar covers are a little itchy to Liam’s bare chest, and the pillow doesn’t smell like home. But when he wraps an arm around Harry and pulls him close, he feels like he’s never known anywhere else. 

 

No one in the house actually gets up till half past eleven. And when they do finally roll out of bed, they spend the next two hours fucking around; eating from their stash of food and watching people on the beach through the house’s excessive windows. It’s the most relaxed Liam’s been in months; joking around with Harry and his friends, playing games like “take a shot every time you see you see a grown man in a speedo” and _Twister_ which Harry found in the hall closet by accident. 

“Left foot blue!” Niall shouts, his face beet red as he tries to maintain the ridiculous stance he has, pretzeled around Liam. 

“That’s not physically possible, Ni,” Harry complains. He’s holding a squat, one foot kicked out to a yellow circle in the corner, while both his hands are balanced on green. 

Zayn, who’s arched over Harry, grumbles, “Sit out then, Curly. Call it quits.”

“ _Never_ —” Harry grunts, stretching his foot out with everything he has, nearly toppling Zayn over as he finally touches the tip of his big toe on a blue circle. 

“Are we counting that?!” Zayn demands in exasperation, glaring at Niall even though it’s just the back of his head. “It’s not even his whole foot!”

Niall deliberates for a moment, the muscles in his arms quivering with the strain of holding himself up. “Yeah,” He says finally. “It’s fine. Zayn, don’t be a dick.”

Harry lets out a breathless laugh then, loud and smug, but it makes him lose his balance; long legs slipping out from under him, accidentally ramming into the other boys. There are multiple screeches of surprise and terror as four torso’s and four sets of limbs collapse into one big pile of sweaty boy. 

“Harry!!” Niall wails, his head trapped under Liam’s thigh. “I was counting on you!”

 

Later, just before 4pm—a time when the beach isn’t so crowded and the sun isn’t quite as unforgiving—Liam finally picks up his phone to see that he has three missed calls from Louis. 

“Well, well, look who’s decided to let me know he’s alive,” That’s how Louis answers the phone, and Liam can’t help but roll his eyes.

“Haven’t really looked at my phone since last night…” Liam trails off as he thinks of Harry straddling him in the backseat of the Range Rover, breathing hot against his neck. Louis picks up on it right away.

“That’a boy, Payno!” He nearly shouts it into the phone, clearly pleased. “Jesus, it’s about time you had a little fun.”

Liam feels a blush on his cheeks again. He and Harry did sleep in the same bed last night, but nothing happened. Just a little kissing first thing in the morning; Harry still half asleep, grinning every time Liam played in his hair. 

“What have you been up to?” Liam changes the subject smoothly, redirecting the conversation to Louis before any inquiries could be made about his night with Harry. 

Louis clears his throat, and Liam can imagine him shrugging his shoulders noncommittally, leaving his expression blank. “Not much. Same old things. Waiting for my buddy to return home from war.”

“Next time we’ll go, just you and me. Alright?” 

“Sure, sure.” Louis sighs; fond, but dismissive. “I’ll believe it when I’m building sandcastles in the sunshine, Payno.”

 

When the four of them finally make their way out of the house and sink their toes into the sand, it’s almost five. The air is warm, but with a cool breeze blowing through it that ruffles their hair and brings goosebumps out on their skin. Harry’s hand is clasped in Liam’s, and they walk together, hips bumping together from time to time as they make the half-hearted effort to keep up with Zayn and Niall. The sunlight’s dying on the horizon; casting everything in shadows of orange and indigo, giving a glitter to Harry’s eyes like nothing Liam’s ever seen before. 

“What?” Harry grins when he notices Liam staring at him. He ducks his head a bit, hiding behind the curtain of his hair, but Liam sweeps it back again. Kisses him soft on the forehead. 

_I love you_.

He’s only thinking it, but Liam makes himself stop anyway. It’s too soon. Ridiculously too soon. But every time he looks at Harry it’s like he’s hit by something heavy and all-consuming. Like he can’t quite breathe unless he touches, kisses. 

“Thanks for bringing me,” He mutters, a smile on his lips. Harry beams.

“Thanks for coming,” Harry replies, dimples cratering even deeper than usual. 

They’re silent for a moment, watching as Niall finally reaches the water and plows right into it, howling in excitement. Zayn laughs, but doesn’t go further than the edge of the beach. 

“Do you wanna go for a swim?” Liam asks, squeezing Harry’s hand a bit to get his attention.

“Hmm, a skinny dip?” Harry teases, wagging his eyebrows until he makes Liam laugh. “Actually, I kind of want a drink…” His eyes drift to the little crab shack restaurant a dozen or so yards away. There’s outdoor seating, twinkling lights, and reggae music thumping from the speakers. 

Liam lets go of Harry’s hand to slide an arm around his shoulder instead, then they both make their way to the shack. 

 

Harry practically moans when he takes his first bite of the fresh-made jalepeno hush puppies. Eyes closed, breathing deep—Liam can’t help but smile as he watches Harry eat. 

“So good,” Harry sighs, popping the rest of the hush puppy into his mouth. 

“Hush puppies and red sangria,” Liam makes a face, but goes to pour himself another glass from the carafe anyway. 

“My mom makes the best sangria,” Harry murmurs, a smile lifting his lips then disappearing just as quickly. “I tried it one year when she made it for some party we were having at our house. I was only eleven, so I snuck it. But it was delicious.”

“Yeah?” Liam asks softly. He can tell there’s something there that Harry’s not saying, but he doesn’t want to push. “Do you have any siblings?”

Harry nods, perking up a little. “My older sister Gemma, yes.”

“I have older sisters too,” Liam grins. “I can french braid, paint nails, and host tea parties like a pro.”

“I can clasp a bra behind my back without looking,” Harry challenges, then immediately bursts into laughter.

“ _Harry Styles_ ,” Liam laughs just as loud. “Never knew you were into that,”

Harry takes a long sip of his sangria, cheeks flushed deeper than usual. “I am if you are,” He smirks, looking up at Liam through his lashes. 

_Jesus_. 

“Alright everybody, as you all know, tonight is karaoke night!!” A man in a straw hat and brightly-colored Hawaiian shirt hollers into a mic a few feet away from them, followed by a hearty round of applause. “If you _didn’t_ know that, you know now.” 

“Oh boy,” Liam chuckles, glancing over at Harry, who’s watching the man with a polite smile.

“We’re taking volunteers now, who wants to come up?”

 

Three different groups of two and three people came up to the stage and sang classic songs, one after another. Drunken renditions of When Doves Cry, Tainted Loved, and Proud Mary start sounding less and less awful with every glass of sangria Liam and Harry down. They’re nearly done with their second carafe by the time the straw-hatted host asks for more volunteers and Liam’s hand shoots up. 

“Li, what are you doing?” Harry whispers, his eyes wide in surprise. 

Liam grins, pressing a finger to his mouth. “You’ll see,”

He picks up a mic and taps it, chuckling to himself as he slurs, “This thing on?” 

He ends up picking My Girl, by the Temptations. He sways with the opening music, humming under his breath. His eyes stay fixed on Harry, who’s blushing a bright pink but smiling at him as Liam begins to sing. “I’ve got sunshine…on a cloudy day. When it’s cold outside—I’ve got the month of may,” Liam steps back for dramatic affect and almost falls on his ass, but he keeps singing. “ _Well!_ I….guess….you….say, what can make me feel this way? My boy, my boy, _my boy_ —talkin’ ‘bout, my boy…. _my boy_ —”

He serenades Harry the entire time, but it sounds more like unintelligible shouting over the music. Harry beams anyway though, biting his bottom lip. 

“That’s my boy everyone—Harry—” Liam suddenly announces mid-song, grinning so hard his cheeks hurt. His vision is blurred with the twinkle lights and the faces in the crowd, but he points in Harry’s general direction. “That ridiculously gorgeous man right there—he should come sing a duet with me, right?” Applause and hooting from the crowd. Liam thinks he might spot Zayn and Niall amongst the edges of the bar, watching him, but he can’t quite tell.

“ _Harry, Harry, Harry!_ ” The crowd begins chanting. And Liam’s entire chest lights up, feeling an impossible warmth that’s also probably from the alcohol. 

“Harry, come sing with me!” Liam shouts, trying to stumble off the stage without falling. “Harry!” He’s so dizzy he can’t really walk in a straight line. He hadn’t quite realized how drunk he was until he tried to navigate through the crowd. 

“ _Liam!_ Liam, hey—come on.” It’s Zayn, and his hand’s on Liam’s shoulder, guiding him away. He takes the mic out of Liam’s hand and sets it down on a nearby table. 

“Where did…Harry go?” Liam wonders aloud, still searching for those sea glass green eyes in every person they pass. 

“Harry left,” Zayn says. “Come on, we’ve gotta go catch up to him.”

 

They see Harry walking alone on the beach, headed back for the house. He doesn’t turn around when they yell his name. Finally, Liam decides to break free of Zayn’s grasp and run to catch up. The pit of dread welling in his stomach—fear that he’s done something horribly wrong and Harry won’t want anything to do with him anymore—does wonders for sobering him up, enough so that he doesn’t faceplant in the sand.

“Harry? Harry—” Liam’s by his side now, reaching out for his forearm, only for Harry to shrug away from his touch. It hurts Liam more than he’d like to admit. “Haz, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking—I shouldn’t have put you on the spot like that.”

A strong wind whips by them, rustling their clothes and Harry’s curls, making them wild along the curves of his face. “ _I can’t do it._ ” Harry stresses, and it takes Liam a moment to see the tear rolling down his cheek. “It’s not your fault. It’s me. There’s something… _wrong_ … with me, and I can’t control it. I hurt people.” Harry reaches out to Liam then, strokes the scar along his forearm, left there by the crash. Liam doesn’t need to hear him say it to know that Harry wants to add, _people like you_.

Liam feels his heart breaking, hears the watery falsettos in his head as he looks into Harry’s eyes. “I’m not afraid of you, Haz. I trust you.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“I do anyway.”

They’re alone now. Zayn and Niall edged the rest of the way towards the little house and slipped inside to give them privacy. 

When Harry doesn’t say anything, Liam bites his lip, moves in a little closer. “What can I do to show you that I’m serious about this?” He almost begs, because he can feel Harry pulling away. Maybe deciding in his head that bringing Liam along was a mistake. “Harry—I’m not going anywhere… unless you want me to.” 

Liam still feels the alcohol hot in the pit of his stomach, numbing his lips, making his heart swoop in his chest like a tsunami wave. Jumbling his brain with all the words he still wants to say. 

“Let’s go inside,” Harry says quietly, avoiding Liam’s gaze. Another gust of wind blows by them, but its gentler this time; just enough to raise goosebumps along their skin. Liam doesn’t want to go inside. He doesn’t want to leave things the way they are. But he follows behind Harry anyway, back inside the little house where it’s quiet except for the sound of the ocean waves. He sleeps on the couch that night, because he doesn’t know if he’s welcome in the bed. 

 

It’s the singing that wakes him up. A rising harmony in his head, like the sun slowly reappearing on the horizon. But when he opens his eyes, the sun is already staring back at him.

“Morning,” Harry whispers, the tip of his nose wiggling a bit with the word and the way he’s grinning so brilliantly. Liam feels like he’s back in the hospital, convinced he’s hallucinating some otherworldly deity. The sunshine coming in through the windows outlines Harry’s hair and body so he’s actually glowing. “Liam…”

Liam blinks, props himself up a little on the old couch with his elbows so his face is barely an inch away from Harry’s. Harry, who’s still grinning like he’s got a fantastic secret to share, the night before seemingly forgotten. “What are you smiling about, Sunshine?” Liam chuckles, giving in. He was expecting more chilled silence and forced distance between them, but if Harry was in a good mood, Liam wasn’t going to question it. 

Harry’s smile widens impossibly at the pet name, and he grasps at Liam’s hand, making a warmth settle in the skin there. “I want to show you something.”

Liam’s pulse quickens, throbbing in his neck. His mouth is suddenly dry as he glances down to Harry’s lips. If he’s being seduced, Liam doesn’t know if he still has it in him to resist. “Yeah?” He asks, his voice a little scratchy with sleep.

“You have to come outside,” Harry says, letting go of Liam’s hand to stand and go to the window. “Hurry, before people start showing up.” 

Liam doesn’t have the chance to protest before Harry disappears through the door, out onto the beach. With a quiet grumble, Liam pulls a t-shirt over his head, runs a hand through his hair, and follows. 

Harry’s standing just out of reach of the water when Liam gets to him, staring down at his bare toes in the sand and the tiny seashells around them. He’s in nothing but a pair of small yellow shorts, his other clothes folded neatly a few feet away, and his hair is tied up in a high bun on the back of his head. He smiles over his shoulder when he feels Liam nearby. 

“So far I’m impressed,” Liam nods, giving him two thumbs up. Harry rolls his eyes, and Liam laughs. 

“Ha-ha.” Harry mumbles, smiling just a bit. His demeanor’s very different than it was a minute ago, when he was beaming and excited. 

“Everything alright?” Liam asks, suddenly concerned. Did he do something wrong again?

“Yeah. Yeah, sorry.” Harry shakes his head just a bit, bun bouncing. When he looks back up at Liam, he’s grinning again. “Come here,” He says.

Liam gets closer, working hard to resist pinching the little love handles pooching over Harry’s shorts.

“Okay—” Harry takes a deep breath, looks Liam in the eyes. “I thought about what you said last night.”

Liam feels something in his chest drop. He nods. 

“…And I realized I’ve been so closed off with you from the start. I told you what I am, and I thought that would be enough somehow, but… it’s not enough. You’re right; part of me is still afraid that one day you’re going to see something in me that scares you, and I’ll never hear from you again.”

Liam thinks of Tom, Harry’s ex, and how his leaving left a scar that hasn’t quite healed. Liam’s pissed suddenly. Absolutely livid that somebody would just leave him like that. Harry, of all people. 

“I know you said you want all of me…” Harry says, a little more softly. He’s slowly edging his left foot towards the water as he speaks, nudging it along the sand in little increments. “So this is me, trying to show you a little more of who I am.” 

Harry’s foot is lapped over with the water then, just enough to wet his ankle. He seems to be waiting for something to happen, so Liam waits too. He almost speaks up to ask Harry what he’s doing, when he sees it.

“Holy shit,” He whispers, kneeling down to get a closer look. He feels his own knees getting wet with water as he peers down at the glittering little plates that have appeared on the top of Harry’s foot. Green and blue and gold, catching the light like gems. When Liam reaches out to touch, Harry flinches just the tiniest bit, but holds still. “Scales,” Liam breathes.

“It’s weird, I know.” Harry’s biting his lip, looking down at Liam with a worried expression. “You don’t have to touch them, if you don’t want to. 

“No, no…they’re beautiful.” Liam runs his fingers along them again in amazement. “Harry, I’m serious, they are.”

When Liam looks up again, Harry’s blushing and his dimple is cratered deep into his cheek. 

“I have more,” He says shyly, suddenly taking a seat in the mushy sand and stretching his long legs out into the water. Liam sits down besides him and watches, marveling as Harry’s skin goes from tan and completely smooth to small patches of gleaming scales, making light dance in dazzling ways. Some on the tops of his thighs, more along the backs of his knees, and wrapping around his calves. Liam wants to see them all.

Instead, he looks over at Harry with a grin on his face. “So does this mean I get to call you Ariel now?”

Harry’s real laugh bursts out of him in the squawk Liam loves so much. “Sure thing, Eric.” He grins once he’s recovered. 

They sit listening to the waves for a while then. Liam continues running his fingers over the scales along Harry’s upper thigh, creeping dangerously close to the hem of the tiny yellow shorts. Harry watches him the whole time, looking amused. 

“Do they go all the way up?” Liam asks then, moving his fingers from Harry’s thigh to the center of his chest. Harry visibly trembles at the contact, closing his eyes for a moment. “If you swam in the water, would you have scales everywhere?”

Harry blinks, lashes brushing his cheeks. When he looks at Liam his eyes are a pale, glowing green. “Some on my arms, a little more on my torso and back, but that’s about it.”

“Have you always had them?” Liam asks, fingering the three strands of hair on Harry’s chest with a smile.

“Heyyy—leave my hairs alone, I worked hard to grow those.” Harry jokes, pushing Liam’s hand away, giggling. “And no, I’ve only had my scales since I was ten or so.”

“They’re beautiful, Harry.” Liam says earnestly. He waits until Harry meets his eyes again before pressing a kiss to Harry’s cheek. Then down a little further to plump pink lips that open for him like he has the key. 

The beach is still mostly empty, so after a minute or so Harry lies back in the sand and Liam follows him, never breaking the kiss. It’s like some kind of drug, kissing Harry. Liam’s mind is white with a euphoric static, his body twisted up like a spring ready to be set free. He can’t help the low groan he makes as Harry’s fingernails dig into the skin of his back a little, pulling him closer. 

“Hey,” Harry pulls away just a little, looks up at Liam with hands holding either side of his face. He grins. “Back inside?”

 

They run into the house, down the hall to their room like big kids, laughing and breathing hard even as they shut the door behind them. 

And then there’s a pause; one of those surreal moments that feels like time has actually slowed down to let you catch your breath. Liam sees Harry leaning back against the door, bathed in a soft kind of sunshine that follows the curves of his body and brings out the honey color in his hair. One foot placed in front of the other, hip cocked slightly, and a smirk spreading slowly across his lips. The subtly-disappearing scales still gleaming on some parts of his long legs. 

This time, Liam hears the singing in his head so loudly he can’t make out any other thought, can’t decipher any other emotion besides the desire he feels for Harry. Liam wants to absolutely wreck him. 

“Do you still wanna be my good boy?” Liam says the words quietly, like a secret, but the hoarseness in his voice gives away how turned on he is. 

Harry bites his lip against a smirk. The sunshine in the room brightens fiercely, dousing everything in golden rays and subtle warmth. The lamp on a nearby table comes to life, glows magnificently, and sparks into blackness again. “Always gonna be good for you,” Harry murmurs, coming closer and placing a kiss along Liam’s neck, humming encouragement as Liam finally reaches for the waistband of Harry’s little shorts and tugs them down his thighs. 

Harry is remarkably responsive; limbs pliant under Liam’s touch, chest flushed a beautiful pink, and lips parted in shaky breaths every time Liam’s fingers stretch him more, nudge mercilessly against his spot. Harry moans softly into Liam’s neck, whispers filthy things in a gasp against the skin there. “ _Wanna blow you,_ ”

And Liam can’t resist anymore—he flips them on the bed so that his back is resting along the pillows and Harry’s in his lap. His fingers are wet with lube and still warm from where they were inside Harry. 

“Is this okay?” Liam breathes, then groans through his teeth as Harry places hot little kisses down his chest. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

Harry flashes his eyes up at Liam; brilliant, glowing emerald in the afternoon sun filtering into the room. He doesn’t speak, just continues kissing down Liam’s torso, humming against sensitive skin and nipping just hard enough to sting. 

“Harry,” Liam tries again, but he loses his resolve the moment he feels wet heat around the tip of his dick. “Fuck,”

Harry’s mouth is sinful. Slow and slick and eager, making Liam bury his fingers in a mess of curls and curse under his breath. Harry glances up at him when he does, eyes blinking slow and innocent as he sinks down on Liam’s dick again and again. A menace. An absolute menace. 

When Harry pulls away, the line of spit connecting his bottom lip to Liam gleams like a strand of a spider’s web, silken and dangerous. Liam can’t really explain it, but seeing Harry like this—graceful and seductive and eager to please, lips bruised and wet—it makes every hair on his body stand on end, electrified with a sense that he’s witnessing something wild. A creature in its natural state, raw and enchanting, eyes so dark with need it’s mesmerizing. Teeth gleaming white, sharp enough to draw blood.

Every instinct in Liam’s body tells him he should be terrified, but he only wants to get closer. 

 

“Hold me tighter,” Harry pleads against Liam’s ear, his voice cracking into a gasp. They’re already pressed so close Liam can feel Harry’s chest rise with every breath, can feel the vibrations when he whines and curses and moans. Liam’s got both feet planted firmly on the bed, and his hands roam from Harry’s sides, down to his ass, spreading him further, gripping the flesh there. Liam knows he’s going to leave bruises all over Harry’s body. Marks of “harder”, “faster”, “tighter” because Harry demands to feel it, even if it hurts. “ _Liam,_ ” Harry insists again, burying his face into Liam’s neck, sweat mixing with sweat, damp curls sticking to skin. Liam wraps his arms around Harry’s back, one lower, one higher. Grips him closer, feels Harry’s bones beneath his fingers. 

The slight change in position is harder to hold, making Liam’s thigh muscles scream in protest, but Harry’s melting, cursing and biting nonsense cries into Liam’s shoulder, digging his nails into soft flesh. It sends Liam over, his orgasm hitting him like a blow to the head; singing and thought gone silent, washed away by white light behind his eyelids and his toes curling into the mattress. Liam’s hips stutter, jutting erratically, and then Harry’s shivering, dissolving into his own white space and making a mess between their chests.

Exhaustion overwhelms Liam for a few moments, blacking him out until he opens his eyes to find Harry’s still lying on his chest, eyes closed, breathing hard. With all the strength drained out of him, he’s dead weight, crushing the air out of Liam’s lungs. 

“Haz,” Liam coughs, then nudges him. “Haz I can’t breathe,” He laughs, coughing more.

Harry’s eyes blink open slowly, and he smiles. “Sorry,” He murmurs, sliding off, down to Liam’s side to rest his head in between the crook of his arm. 

Liam can’t help but smile. Eyes closed, nose nuzzled up against Liam’s peck, Harry looks like a sleeping kitten. All of the untamed ferocity of minutes before gone from him like a possession of the soul. Liam can’t tell which version he likes more. 

“Babe, I’m gonna run you some bathwater,” Liam says into Harry’s damp hair as he ties off the condom. There’s no reply, so Liam slowly edges away from the sleeping boy and creeps towards the bathroom, feeling the unpleasant affects of drying sweat and cum on his own skin. He’s just about to close the door behind himself when he hears a soft mumble coming from the bed. “What’s that, Sunshine?” He asks, looking back, a smirk on his lips.

Harry’s got his face completely buried in a pillow, curls spilling on either side of his face, but he groans and says louder, “You just want to see my scales again. I’m on to you.”

Liam laughs, harder than he probably should have. “Guilty,” He mutters, shaking his head as he disappears to run the water.

 

“The walls are extremely thin,” It’s the first thing Zayn says to the two of them when they shuffle into the kitchen sometime after noon in search of food. Niall’s sitting at the table and he starts chortling with laughter, mouth full of Cheerios and milk running down the side of his lips as Zayn continues. “I couldn’t untangle my earphones fast enough. I heard some things I could have done without.”

Harry’s grinning but blushing bright pink, and Liam probably is too. He clears his throat, holds Harry’s hand a little tighter. “Sorry fellas.”

“Yeah, but Harry we’re just dying to know—” Zayn quirks an eyebrow, looks at Niall. Then they both chime in together, smirking like crazy, “Were you a good boy?”

 

“Sorry about them,” Harry says to Liam over an hour later when they’re both back in their room, packing up their things for the car ride home. Harry’s got a small smile on his lips as he looks up at Liam. 

“It’s alright,” Liam chuckles. “They’ve already suffered today,”

Harry’s dimple deepens along with the flush of his cheeks. “I was pretty loud, yeah?”

A shiver runs down Liam’s back at the thought, replaying the events of the morning until he’s gripping the straps of his bag way too hard. “You were…perfect,” Liam says, taking in his breaths more slowly.

Harry meets Liam’s eyes, and his gaze is curious. He opens his mouth, like he wants to say something, then closes it again. 

“What is it, Haz?” Liam asks, concerned.

Harry wraps his arms around himself, ducks his head down. “I wonder if you really know what I’m capable of…” Harry says, so quietly Liam has to move closer just to hear him. “I can do so many ugly, terrible, terrible things, Liam. I’m a monster.”

“Hey now—” Liam wraps his arms around Harry, squeezes tight, molding himself against a slender frame. He can feel Harry shaking in his embrace, tears seeping into the crook of his shoulder. “Babe, babe…you’re the farthest thing from a monster I could ever imagine.”

Harry settles a little, succumbing to the warm, broad sweeps of Liam’s hand up and down his back. Even burying himself closer still, silently begging for Liam not to let him go. 

“Haz what you are doesn’t make you a monster,” Liam continues, kissing the top of Harry’s head. “You fight it every day, I can see that. You have this palpable desire to do good that I love. And, just…” Liam bites his lip, wanting to say so much more but stopping himself. 

Harry pulls away just a bit, looks at Liam with furrowed-brow concentration. “What if I lose? The fight?”

Liam is taken off guard by that, his mind stuttering. But Harry is serious, and Liam’s heart is beating faster and faster. “I’ll be there with you.” He says, squeezing Harry’s side until a dimpled grin wrestles its way onto pink lips. “Just be honest with me Harry, and we can get through anything.” 

 

**Two Months Later**

 

Every day, Liam learns something new about Harry. He learns that Harry loves to play scrabble on Sunday evenings after a long day of pajama pants and huddling under bedcovers until the late afternoon. He learns that Harry plays with the ends of his curls when he’s in deep thought, and he twists his rings when he’s nervous. He learns that Harry’s still afraid that Liam won’t stay, and he can’t really sleep until he’s being held tight. 

“ _Liam please,_ ” Harry sobs the word into the covers, arching his back a little more as Liam licks at his hole with abandon. “ _Li,_ ” Harry begs, pushing his ass more firmly against Liam’s tongue. 

Harry’s skin is still wet with water from the shower, and there’s a dripping spot on the wall where Liam pressed Harry’s back against it, sucking dark marks along his neck. 

“Want me to fuck you?” Liam murmurs against Harry’s rim.

Harry cries something unintelligible into the pillow, legs beginning to tremble where they’re still covered in gleaming blue-green scales.

“Yeah?” Liam nips at Harry’s rim again, then sits back, watching the head of dark, wet curls at the other end of the bed. “You want it?” He asks again, softly. 

“Yeah,” Nodding, curls flopping over the pillowcase. “Need you,”

“Need me?” Liam murmurs, a smile creeping onto his lips as he watches the beautiful creature before him try to hold it together. 

Harry nods faster, more urgently. “Wanna be your good boy, wanna be your good boy…” He mutters the words like a prayer, words slurring, cracking at the edges. _Beautiful _, Liam thinks, and he knows Harry can hear him.__

__“You ready for me?” Liam asks, biting his lip and taking a deep breath as he watches two of his fingers disappear inside Harry, scissor out again and again. He adds a third, curls them, and watches a jolt run through Harry’s body._ _

__When Liam flips his boy over, Harry’s chest is flushed a deep pink. His nipples are so puffy they look almost painful, and dark, wet curls are splayed over his cheeks and his eyes, hiding his face save for the lips—bitten, bruised, still glistening from the blowjob he gave Liam in the shower._ _

__“Please Li,” Harry slurs quietly, and Liam grips the backs of Harry’s knees and bends them almost to his chest. Harry’s dick is fat and leaking across his belly and down to his navel. It gives a twitch when Liam rubs at his sensitive hole with his tip, teasing. Just for a little while. “ _Li,_ ” Harry moans impatiently, squirming beneath him._ _

__The lights flicker in the room, threatening to go out._ _

__So Liam pushes in slowly, buries himself in Harry to the hilt, till he feels his own eyes rolling back a little with how good it feels. “God,” He groans, dipping his head to rest in the dip of Harry’s shoulder. He picks up his pace, makes his strokes firm and deep so they both move up the bed a little with every one, Harry’s eyes squeezed shut and little moans falling from his lips. The bedside lamp comes to life suddenly, bulb brightening more and more, humming with electricity._ _

__“Baby,” Liam buries the word in curls and damp cotton. He reaches between them, grips Harry’s dick in his hand, moves up and down._ _

__Harry curses into Liam’s ear, so loud it’s like a shout. He arches off the mattress as Liam’s hips pick up speed, sputters through his orgasm like it’s being punched out of him. Not long after, Liam follows behind, moaning Harry’s name into the curve of his neck._ _

__

__“I was so close,” Liam mutters a little later. He’d just climbed back into bed after having a quick cigarette by the open window, and the t-shirt he’d pulled on already smells of smoke. Harry, who’s buried chin-deep in the covers—only his eyes, nose, and floppy mound of his bun visible—frowns at Liam._ _

__“Close?” He asks, his voice scratchy and spent. He’s still naked and warm under the covers, and Liam pulls him to his side._ _

__“One day I wanna make you blow the bulb on that lamp, Styles.” Liam grins._ _

__Harry’s face screws up the way it does right before he’s about to laugh at something he finds really funny (lips desperately trying to hold back a smile, dimples cratering into his cheeks, eyes flashing so wide it’s almost cartoonish). He throws his head back in a high-pitched cackle that consumes his whole body, face flushing bright pink with laughter before he can hide it behind his hands. Liam’s just about to say something else when the small TV across the room cuts on, volume on full blast. It’s some 80’s sitcom and the audience is laughing, seemingly joining along with Harry’s outburst._ _

__Liam scrambles to find the remote and cut the TV off. By the time he does, Harry has quieted down and is sitting up fully in the bed, biting his lip. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that to happen.” His voice sounds so small and humiliated, it breaks something in Liam._ _

__“Of course you didn’t, babe. I know.” Liam smiles, hoping it’s encouraging. Settles closer to Harry again. “Does that…happen a lot?” He can’t help but ask. Even though Harry promised to be more open with him, Liam still gets the sense that there’s a lot he doesn’t know._ _

__Harry’s quiet for a long time, so long that Liam thinks maybe he won’t answer. But with a shaky inhale, Harry admits, “Yes.”_ _

__“Just like lights and TVs?” Liam asks gently._ _

__“All sorts of things,” Harry shrugs. “When I was younger, I accidentally brought a tornado into town because my mom wouldn’t buy my favorite cereal.” A small smile, then it’s gone, and he’s digging his nails into his arm._ _

__Liam pulls Harry’s fingers away from himself, holds them instead. “Yeah? Like a big one?”_ _

__“Nah,” Harry smiles again, looking Liam in the eyes. “Just a little one. It knocked some old trees down, but no one got hurt.”_ _

__Liam nods, smirks. “Now I know never to take you grocery shopping.”_ _

__Harry snorts a laugh and nudges Liam away playfully, only to scoot in closer seconds later._ _

__“Did you grow up here?” Liam tests the waters. Harry’s never talked much of his childhood, only ever listened to Liam’s endless anecdotes of growing up with three sisters and a good-hearted mom who cries at everything._ _

__“Not here. Seattle, actually.” Harry nods, as if affirming it to himself. He pauses for several moments before continuing. “I moved to New Orleans when I was thirteen to stay with my grandmother. Then when she died during my last year of college, I moved to South Carolina with Zayn.”_ _

__“Oh… Did your mom…?” Liam says, and he regrets it instantly when he watches the way the light goes out of Harry’s eyes._ _

__“No… she’s still living in Seattle. So is my sister Gemma…”_ _

__The way Harry says the words, it’s like there’s a lifetime of emotional baggage hanging on every one._ _

__“Harry?” Liam goes to ask another question— _what made you leave?_ —but Harry beats him to it._ _

__“I guess I just got really sick of rain.” He grins, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. And he doesn’t look at Liam as he grabs the remote out of his lap and turns the TV back on. The audience is laughing again, filling the room with noise, but Liam can’t look away from Harry._ _

__

__Harry works at a Children’s hospital now. It’s a much shorter commute, higher pay, and Harry loves working with the kids. Most days, Liam stops by on his lunch break, and sometimes if he’s lucky, he’ll be able to charm the ladies at the front desk to let him into one of the common rooms where Harry has a lot of his sessions._ _

__Liam loves watching his boyfriend—they made it official shortly after they returned from the beach—sitting cross-legged on the colorful crayon rug, a child sidled up next to him watching intently as his hands move over whatever instrument he’s playing that day. For the patients who want to listen, Harry lets them listen. For the patients who want to try their hand at playing, Harry will hand over control, grinning as tiny fingers find their voice._ _

__One day Liam walks in right as one of the nurses comes to retrieve a sick little girl, no older than five, from the session. Her tiny body trembles with violent coughs, and her face is red and pinched with pain. She lets the nurse help her up, but she waves to Harry, who waves back with a smile that Liam knows is there to mask his concern._ _

__“It’s okay, Bella. We’ll continue tomorrow, yeah?” Harry says softly. “I’ll bring the Ukulele,”_ _

__Bella is lifted into a wheelchair by the nurse, little legs dangling over the edge, but her coughing subsides for just a moment at the mention of the instrument, and the biggest grin spreads across her face, lifting tired eyes and showing off her missing two front teeth. “Bye Harry!” She chimes. And she and the nurse disappear from the room._ _

__For a moment, both Harry and Liam listen to the wheelchair squeak and squeal down the hall, getting fainter and fainter, but it isn’t long before Harry notices he’s not alone._ _

__“Heyyy,” Harry says breathlessly, a grin of his own breaking over his lips. “How long have you been watching?”_ _

__Liam smiles, comes closer before settling down where Harry’s still sitting on the carpet. “Not long,” He says._ _

__“Mmm,” Harry murmurs, and scoots closer to Liam so that their thighs are touching. He balances his head on Liam’s shoulder, curls spilling over. Liam wraps an arm around him, holding Harry close._ _

__“I don’t want to get you in trouble, Haz,” Liam chuckles, looking back at the door. But Harry hums, doesn’t budge, and Liam doesn’t have the heart to push him away._ _

__“I am on break as of…” Harry looks at his wrist watch, waits. “Right now.” He tilts his chin up, meets Liam’s lips with his own. Just a chaste peck at first, but then Harry sucks Liam’s bottom lip into his mouth._ _

__Liam lets out a small moan before he can stop himself, and Harry pulls away with wet lips, giggling._ _

__“Menace,” Liam murmurs again, rubbing his bottom lip and trying to keep from laughing. He quiets when he sees the guitar lying on the carpet on Harry’s other side. He reaches over and grabs it, strumming it a bit before remembering he has no idea how to play._ _

__“Here, let me.” Harry sighs, rolling his eyes playfully. He takes the guitar, pulls a pick out of his pocket, and begins to play. Melody surges from his fingertips, filling the room. Slow at first, and then gaining complexity, taking shape._ _

__“That’s beautiful,” Liam says quietly. Harry looks over at him and smiles._ _

__He continues to play, picking up the pace, his body rocking with the music. Liam notices that Harry’s eyes have closed, and he’s humming something, soft and sweet, barely audible. His humming eventually turns to mouthing words; lips tilting in a slow smile around them, cratering his dimple deep into his cheek. And then, carefully, quietly, Harry begins actually singing. One hesitant note carrying into the next, words lost beneath the music._ _

__It’s the most beautiful sound Liam’s ever heard. He leans in closer, tries to hear every breath, every pause, every dip and rise of Harry’s voice. It’s like a tide pulling him in, drowning him in the music…drowning him in Harry…_ _

__Liam blinks, and suddenly he’s surrounded by water. He’s swimming in it, treading with his arms and legs, keeping his chin above the surface as the impossibly black body of it laps around him. He’s sinking, imperceptibly almost, losing the battle inch by inch, but he’s calm. His body’s relaxed like he’s falling into a deep sleep._ _

__Liam can still hear Harry’s voice, he realizes, somewhere. It’s muffled, like it’s coming from far away. “Harry!” He tries to yell it, but no sound comes from his lips. He sinks deeper into the water; lips, eyes, and soon his entire head is consumed by the dark waves. He can’t breathe, but he can see something glowing below him in the depths; bright, watery green, like a lighthouse at the bottom of the ocean. The further he sinks, the louder Harry’s song gets. The notes turn a little sweeter, a little needier, and there’s something that keeps pulling Liam deeper, luring him in like an invitation—_ _

__“Hey, I’m sorry, but you two can’t stay back here.” An older woman who works behind the front desk at the hospital is standing in the doorway of the common room, hand on her hip and a stern expression on her face. “Harry dear, as much as I love hearing you play, I can’t let you linger around if you’re not helping a patient.” When she looks at Harry, the older woman’s face softens. She smiles at him before returning to the hall._ _

__Harry’s gone silent. He looks pale and shaken, like he’s seen a ghost. He lets the guitar fall onto the floor in front of him with a loud thump._ _

__“Li?”_ _

__Liam blinks up at the fluorescent ceiling lights, feeling dizzy like he’s just been dragged back into reality from a long dream. His lungs are burning like crazy, and it’s not until he inhales sharply and exhales on a coughing fit that he realizes he’s been holding his breath._ _

__“Liam, I’m—”_ _

__His eyes are watering and his head is spinning from the influx of oxygen. He’s coughing so hard it’s like he’s choking._ _

__“Harry what the hell just happened?” Liam whispers, touching his throat._ _

__“It was an accident,” Harry’s got tears running down his cheeks. “I can’t control it with you, I told you. I can’t control it, I can’t control it.”_ _

__Liam feels something constrict in his chest. The room is suddenly far too small, closing in on them like a trap. He remembers drowning so vividly; can still feel the dark water enveloping him, swallowing him whole._ _

__When Harry reaches out his arm, Liam pulls away instinctually. He regrets it immediately, watching the hurt seep into Harry’s eyes like a dam breaking._ _

__“Harry, wait,” Liam pleads, reaching out for him as Harry gets to his feet so quickly he nearly loses his balance. But Liam’s still dizzy, still weak, and he doesn’t even make contact._ _

__Harry leaves the room without ever looking back._ _


	3. Three

Liam is useless the rest of the day. He goes back to work, but essentially just stares at his desk and listens to Louis’ mindless chatter in his ear until 5pm. 

“What’s wrong with you?” Louis asks when Liam starts packing up his things without a word. Louis’ got his eyes narrowed, one eyebrow quirked, and gears churning at top speed behind his bright blue eyes. He probably knew something was wrong hours ago, but Liam usually prefers to sulk silently for a while before brushing whatever it is off and returning to himself again. 

“Nothing,” Liam mumbles. And then, because he knows Louis won’t accept that as an answer, he adds, “I think I’m just going to head to the gym for a few hours.”

Louis immediately makes a face and backs off. “Yikes. Alright, well you know where to find me when you’re done.”

“See you Lou,” Liam waves and leaves.

 

The gym probably would’ve been a great way to get his mind off things, even for a moment, but that’s not where Liam goes. There’s a small cafe a few minutes away with free wifi and amazing chocolate chip cookies. He’d never even known it existed until he started going there with Harry. 

It’s barely after 5:15 when Liam’s sitting down at a little table in the back corner of the cafe, his giant chocolate chip cookie lying untouched next to his laptop as he types S-I-R-E-N into the search bar of his browser. The first result gives him a definition, describing Sirens as creatures in Greek mythology that are both beautiful and deadly. Known for their power to enchant and entice sailors with their singing, subsequently leading them off course to crash their ships against the rocky coast.

“Jesus,” Liam mutters, thinking of Harry and how innocent he looks when he smiles, or falls asleep in his lap. It doesn’t seem right. But then he remembers the feeling of drowning beneath black waters, of letting himself slip under so easily and without a fight. 

Liam continues searching. 

 

By the time he’s in his car driving away from the cafe, Liam’s given himself a headache behind his eyes, and it feels like there’s a stone in the pit of his stomach. He’s shaking, and his brain’s so muddled he doesn’t know what to think, doesn’t know how to feel. Images float around in his mind of watery beings in shallow waters, sharp rocks, barred teeth, and an island littered in the bones of shipwrecked sailors. Remains stacked so densely together that they’re almost impossible to distinguish from the actual ground.

And somewhere among all the horrific details, there’s Harry. Liam’s Harry who looked at him with such betrayal that afternoon that Liam wonders if he’ll ever be able to fix it this time. He’s still thinking this as he unlocks the door to his and Louis’ shared apartment and steps inside. 

When he does, he stops in his tracks, frowning at the scene in front of him. 

“Hey there Payno,” Louis chimes, tossing him a smug little grin over the back of the couch. “How was the gym?”

Liam’s dumbfounded, unable to reply as his gaze falls to Zayn Malik, who’s lounging in Liam’s favorite recliner, socked feet propped up on the old coffee table like he’s a regular guest. 

“Payno?” Zayn asks Louis, brow lifting. “Hmm. I like it.”

“What are you doing here?” Liam asks, fearing the worst. He drops his keys into the tray by the door and hesitantly walks over to the couch to sit next to Louis. There’s a game of soccer playing on the TV, but it’s on mute and nobody seems to be paying much attention to it. 

“Just dropped by,” Zayn sighs, stretching a bit, getting more comfortable like he’s never planning on leaving. 

Liam knows there’s more to it than that, but he doesn’t say so, just narrows his eyes.

“Zayn here—mind if I call you Zayn?” Louis calls over jokingly, waiting until Zayn gives a little nod of approval. “Zayn seems like a delight. Glad to finally meet him. Or, you know, learn that he exists.”

Again, Liam doesn’t answer. Just continues to watch Zayn. 

“I can’t believe you’ve never even mentioned me, Payno.” Zayn says, feigning offense. The familiar teasing glimmer still present in his eyes.

Liam sighs. “Louis, this is Harry’s best friend.”

Louis snorts, pretends to go back to watching the game on TV. “At this point I’m wondering if _Harry_ exists.”

Liam still hasn’t introduced Harry to Louis, and Louis likes to make a big deal out of it. But at this point, Harry probably won’t even speak to him again, so what does it matter?

“Why did you let him in here?” Liam grits. He’s still shaken up, his mind plagued with things that will surely seep into his nightmares. He doesn’t feel like deflecting Louis’ constant sarcasm right now, and he certainly doesn’t care to be in the presence of Zayn, who still takes great pleasure in making him uncomfortable every chance he gets.

“Jesus, don’t get your shorts in a knot, Liam.” Louis says, shooting him a narrow-eyed glance. “Thought maybe he had something to do with how upset you were earlier, s’all. You’re so damn cryptic.” 

Zayn, still lounging in Liam’s chair, doesn’t seem bothered at all that he’s no longer welcome in the apartment. “Hey Lou,” He says easily, waiting until Louis turns to meet his gaze. “Remember you said you were tired earlier? I wouldn’t want to keep you from your rest… You should go on and get some sleep, yeah?”

Liam frowns. He can’t see Louis’ face, but he definitely notices the weird pause between the end of Zayn’s sentence and Louis nodding his head in agreement. “Right, right,” Louis yawns, already rising from the couch. “Good looking out, buddy.” He pats Zayn’s shoulder on his way out of the room, and Zayn’s eyes trail after him a little longer than necessary. A moment later they hear a door open and shut when Louis disappears into his bedroom. 

“What the hell was that?” Liam demands.

“I’m just persuasive, Liam.” Zayn grins, but gives in with a sigh. “He’ll be fine. I just needed to talk to you alone.”

“You messed with his head, didn’t you?” Liam asks, incredulous. “How many people do you do that to?”

Zayn takes his feet off the coffee table and puts them back on the floor. He leans forward. “Relax.”

“Do you do that to me?” Liam demands again.

Zayn shakes his head, exasperated. “Harry made me promise not to. Again. So, no, unfortunately not. But listen—” He’s looking Liam in the eyes now, all his sarcasm wiped out by seriousness. “Harry’s a mess. He came home early from work and locked himself in his room. He won’t talk to me or Niall, and there’s been a severe thunderstorm warning since noon.”

Zayn glances at the windows across the room, and Liam’s gaze follows. In the slats between the blinds, it’s clear that the clouds have crowded out the sun and are heavy with rain. 

“I need you to tell me what happened,” Zayn says. But when Liam starts explaining, Zayn shakes his head. “Tell me in the car. We have to get going.”

 

The rain starts coming down before they can get to Liam’s car (Zayn had taken an uber to the apartment in the first place). By the time they’re seated with the doors closed, they’re both drenched. Liam looks over to see tiny magenta scales gleaming along Zayn’s cheekbones and neck from the water. 

“Start the car I’m freezing,” Zayn snaps, deflecting the attention from his face. “And tell me what happened this afternoon.”

So Liam tells him, and goes on to say how he spent a good portion of his evening researching Sirens and their appearances throughout greek mythology. Towards the end he’s just babbling nervously, because they’re stopped at a red light and Zayn still hasn’t said anything. 

“I don’t know how I’m going to be able to help,” Liam says, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. “Harry doesn’t want to see me.”

Zayn purses his lips, turns up the temperature in the car. It’s not until he sits back again and the light turns green that Zayn starts talking. 

“Most of what you read is true.” Zayn says, locking his gaze with Liam’s. “Our ancestors were monsters; they killed hundreds of thousands of men, fed off of them and collected their remains like trophies.”

“Fucking hell,” Liam murmurs, running unsteady fingers through his hair. Traffic’s piling up, and they’re stuck at another light. “Is this your way of transitioning to the moment when you announce that you’re gonna eat me?” Liam tries to laugh, make light of it, but it comes out shaken.

Zayn chuckles. “You’re not my type, Payno, don’t worry.” And when he sees Liam noticeably swallow, he adds. “I’m joking. Obviously I don’t eat people—come on now.”

“But—”

Zayn cuts him off, keeps talking. “The stories that you read are missing something. About a thousand years ago, a group of Sirens lured in and shipwrecked a boat, ultimately killing two-hundred men. It wasn’t anything they hadn’t done countless times before, but this time, the son of a powerful witch was among the dead.”

“A witch,” Liam can’t help the skepticism in his tone.

“Yeah—pay attention to the road.” Zayn says, continuing. “When the witch discovered that her beloved and only son had been killed by the Sirens, she plugged her ears with wax and went to the island herself.

“When she arrived, she asked for the remains of her son to be returned to her, in order to give him a proper burial. The Sirens laughed at her, unaware of her powers. She seemed just a frail old woman, barely able to stand without the help of a cane. So they told her to get off their island and never come back.

“Enraged, the old witch cast a curse on them; that they should lose their fins, gills, and sharp teeth, and be left to wander the earth as barely more than mortal humans. They could keep their voices, she told them, but should they sing, people would realize what they were—the monsters who’d killed their sons, brothers, and fathers for centuries—and the Sirens would be hunted mercilessly.”

Liam listens, driving a little more slowly as he tries to process. 

“Sirens were forced to integrate into human society. Left defenseless, they had to hide their identities or else be hunted within an inch of extinction. Many of them were found out right away and were burned at the stake or tortured to death. Within a few centuries, there were only a handful of them left, and they spread out around the globe, hiding out for generations until Sirens became fictional depictions of a lost culture, and it was safe to emerge. They eventually began to mingle with the humans; finding mates and starting families with them…blurring the lines…

“Harry really is trying to be open with you, Liam. It’s just…we’ve been taught all our lives to keep our heritage a secret, or else terrible things will happen…”

Liam pulls into the driveway of the neat, painted house right as Zayn stops talking, but he doesn’t turn the car off right away. “Then how come you’re so open in telling me all this now?”

Zayn shrugs. “I know you’d never do anything to hurt Harry. You’ll keep your mouth shut. Just like Niall.”

Liam nods, lets out a breath. His stomach twists at the thought of what he’s going to find inside the house. A sudden crack of thunder seems to make the whole sky shake in answer.

“Harry’s not as good at controlling all this yet,” Zayn motions towards the sky. “He comes from a powerful line of Sirens—way more powerful than me—but Harry has a lot of shit from his past that keeps him from fully embracing it.”

Liam nods, clenches his jaw. 

“Having you around helps him, more than we can.” Zayn says softly, placing a hand on Liam’s shoulder. “Trust me.”

 

Niall has managed to get Harry out of his room, but not much more. They’re curled up on the couch together when Zayn and Liam enter, dripping rainwater onto the hardwood. The power’s out from the storm, and Niall’s got candles lit up around the room, throwing odd shadows across the walls. He stands up when he sees them, walking over with his hands dug into his pockets. 

“It’s bad,” He whispers, sadness pooling in his blue eyes. “He won’t even talk to me.” 

Zayn nods. “Let’s just leave them alone for a bit, yeah?” He nods at Liam, and then without another word, he and Niall both disappear into the kitchen. Liam’s left standing there, feeling like a single rickety life raft floating in the middle of an ocean. 

He goes to sit next to Harry cautiously, watching his expressionless face through the curtain of his curls. “Haz?” Liam asks, hesitating before resting a hand on Harry’s thigh. He uses his thumb to rub comforting circles there the way Harry likes. “Can we talk?”

“I don’t know if you realize this, Liam, but I almost killed you today.”

When Harry actually speaks, it barely sounds like him. His voice is so scratchy and low that it’s almost unrecognizable. Liam swallows, pushes forward.

“You’re not gonna hurt me.” He says, hoping he sounds more confident than he feels. “I’m not afraid of you, Harry. Please look at me—”

Liam waits until he sees two pale green eyes meet his. They’re gleaming under furrowed brows, full of the same hurt that was there earlier. “You’re lying,” He whispers.

Liam pulls back, his mind reeling, heart sinking. “What makes you say that?”

“Your hands.” Harry nods down at where they’re resting in Liam’s lap now. “They’re trembling.”

Liam clenches them, feeling something tighten in his chest. “Harry, you know everything about me; my childhood, my sisters, the story about my reappearing kidney… _you know me_.” Liam stresses, hearing the pain in his own voice. “People have stories, they have pasts… I know you’ve been hurt a lot during your life, but I’m not going to love you any less because of it. You have to trust me.”

It’s the first time he’s ever told Harry that he loves him. He hates that this is the way it’s come out.

Harry is taken back for a moment, eyes blinking, mouth dropped into a little ‘O’. But then he’s shaking his head, burying his face in his hands. 

“ _Talk to me,_ ” Liam almost begs, desperation and anger brewing in his core like the worsening storm outside.

When Harry says nothing, Liam continues on a breath. 

“You’re right. Okay? You’re right. You scared me, Haz.” Liam rambles, trying not to trip over his own words. He wants to get up, move, leave, maybe. But he’s glued to the couch, unable to budge. “I guess I didn’t realize all that you’re capable of…”

Silence for several moments. Just the sound of rain pattering against the windows, and the distant rumble of thunder overhead. 

“I can’t stop it.” Harry finally says, lifting his head up from his hands. He doesn’t look at Liam, and it’s almost like he’s ashamed; admitting something he swore he’d never say aloud. “I can’t stop it because it feels so good… it’s like a high…”

Liam watches Harry’s face, sees the uneasiness there in the lines of his forehead. “I don’t… I don’t understand, Haz, what are you talking about?”

“The kill.” Harry looks over at him, eyes hard and black in the low lighting. “Once I start, it’s nearly impossible to stop myself. I would have killed you today, Liam.”

“Don’t say that, Harry.” Liam whispers.

“I’ve done it before.”

The words settle in slowly, like warm water melting through snow. The room is deadly silent; even the rain seems to slow.

“It happened when I was thirteen—that’s why I had to leave Seattle.” Harry begins, his dark eyes unmoving. “I sang to the little girl next door because she stole my bike and wouldn’t give it back.”

“Harry—” Liam’s barely mouthing the name, too horrified by what he’s hearing to make a sound.

“When I sang to her, she tied a gardening hose around her throat—one of those automated ones that rolls back up when you’re finished with it.” Harry continues, his voice hard and unfamiliar. “When she had it on herself nice and tight, she flipped the lever on the device, and it reeled back so fast that it broke her neck. I can still hear the snap.”

Liam’s feels a retch crawling up the back of his throat. He bends over, head between his knees, trying to breathe. He can’t think, but he can hear the snap, too. Clear as day in his head, like he’d been there, and he knows Harry’s projecting it into his mind.

“Stop that!” He yells, digging his fingers through his hair and pressing hard, like he can push the sound out. 

“You should listen to your body, Liam.” Harry says quietly. “It recognizes a monster when it meets one.”

“You… stay the fuck away from me.” Liam spits finally, sitting up to look Harry in the eyes once again, hoping he senses the monster in him, too. “ _Now I see why he left you_.”

And Harry’s eyes go a little wide at that, the first true reaction he’s given in ages. Liam feeds off of it, fueling the hurt in his chest. 

“You really are a monster.” He whispers, standing and leaving before he can act any further. He slams the door behind him, squinting against the ice-cold rain that soaks his shirt and chills his skin.

Liam gets in his car and drives away. This time, he’s the one who doesn’t look back. 

 

***

Zayn and Niall walk back into the living room when they hear Liam’s car speed down their street, away from the house.

“Harry.” Zayn says, his tone already firm in the way Harry hates. It makes him feel like a chastised child.

“Can you just not lecture me? Please?” Harry cuts, pulling his blanket up over his chin and letting his hair fall into his face. Maybe if he stays like this for long enough he’ll just disappear.

Zayn ignores him. “That’s interesting; the story you told Liam. This whole time I’ve been under the impression that our singing didn’t work on children.”

Harry glares at him, just his eyes peering out over the edge of his blanket. His voice is muffled when he replies. “Liam doesn’t know that. Besides, what really happened is bad enough.”

“I don’t understand why you’re doing this,” Niall says, sidestepping Zayn to come kneel in front of Harry. “You really like him, I can tell.”

“He would have left anyway,” Harry mumbles. “Might as well make it easy for him.”

“Liam’s different and you know it.” Zayn says. His voice still has that characteristic bluntness to it—stern and unyielding—but there’s a bit of honey in the words as he looks at Harry. “If you would have just told him—”

Harry shakes his head, sweeps his hair back from his face in one motion. He hadn’t realized he was crying until he touched his face with his other hand and it came away wet. “I thought Tom was different too, but I was wrong. And even if I am right this time—it’s too dangerous. How do I know that I can trust him?”

Zayn and Niall look at each other. “You gotta trust somebody, Haz.”

A silence falls between all of them. Tears continue to roll down Harry’s cheeks, dripping from his chin onto his t-shirt, disappearing into the cotton.

“If he’s not the person I think he is…” Harry murmurs. “…if he takes advantage… it could be disastrous. _People could die_. This isn’t just about me.”

“We’re not saying you should rush into this,” Niall speaks before Zayn can. “Just baby steps, you know?”

Harry looks down at his hands, traces the birthmark on his right wrist just to have something to do. “I don’t want to make him feel like he has to stay…” It comes out as a whisper, but Harry knows they both hear it. 

Softening, Niall and Zayn drop the subject and silently take their seats by Harry’s side. They offer comfort in the warmth of their presence and the white noise of pointless chatter until the storm outside slowly, slowly subsides and Harry goes numb. 

 

Growing up in Seattle, Harry used to love rain. The sky breaking like a dam, drenching everything beneath it in showers of cold and wet. Umbrellas would open, and if he was in the city, holding Gemma’s hand as they made their way along the sidewalk in front of their mother, it looked almost like a sea of them, bobbing, spinning, glistening as the rain trickled down. Harry associated rain with quiet days in with his family; playing board games, drinking hot chocolate, cuddling on the couch nudged up against his mom, the three of them deciding on a movie to watch. 

Rain was nice. Until he was ten years old, and he and Gemma were playing some sort of game out in the back yard. Out of nowhere it started to pour, and the two of them rushed inside in a fit of breathless giggles, leaving their muddy shoes at the door. Harry’s heart was still beating hard in his chest, a big dopey grin on his lips, when Gemma grabbed his arm and frowned.

“ _What the heck is that?_ ” She whispered, pointing to something. Harry tilted his head and brought his arm closer so he could take a look. In the middle of his forearm, there was one gleaming spot of blue green that caught the light in a way that skin never should. And when he touched it, it felt like a scab, but smooth, and much more firm. “Did you bedazzle your arm or something?” Gemma chuckled, shaking her head at her younger brother’s antics. She ruffled his short hair and walked away, her attention already on something else. But Harry was still staring at the gleaming little scab, picking at it until he was positive it wasn’t a rhinestone. 

 

Harry didn’t mention the scab to his mom, and within a few minutes, it’d gone anyway. Fallen off somewhere, Harry assumed. He just hoped the cat didn’t eat it.

So he went about his normal life, completely forgetting about the scab until the next morning in the shower. He was humming some nonsensical tune, lathering himself up with fresh-smelling soap when he felt it under his fingertips. He held his arm under the water until it was visible; one gleaming, blue green spot, back in the exact same place it was last time. 

Harry was a bit of a worrisome child—that’s what people always called it. And he’d tried his best to grow out of it; to make his dad proud and become the man of the house since his parent’s divorce… but looking at the spot on his arm—or scab, or whatever it was—made fear creep up Harry’s chest and cut off his air like he was being choked. He thought about calling his mom; running to her crying and asking what was wrong with him, but he resisted. He was probably overreacting. 

The spot on Harry’s arm disappeared and reappeared on and off for weeks, seemingly only when Harry’s arm got wet. He ignored it for a long time, anxiety welling up in him under the surface which he tried to control. But when another spot appeared, and another, and another, all in different places, Harry couldn’t keep it a secret any longer. 

He told his mom one night after taking a bath and seeing one spot appear on his upper thigh. “I think… I think they’re scales.” He stammered, unable to look her in the eyes. “Like Rainbow Fish.”

Harry didn’t mention the dozens of nightmares he’d had over the months, where he dreamed his legs turned into one big fin, like the Little Mermaid, and he was banished to live in the ocean forever.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, hesitantly looking up at his mother. Her blue grey eyes were wide, looking at the slowly-disappearing scales glimmering in patches on her son’s still-wet skin. She didn’t say anything for a long time, her mouth opening and closing like she’d forgotten how to speak. 

“Thank you for telling me, honey.” She finally managed, her voice still the same warm, motherly tone. “Everything’s going to be alright, okay? You’re just a little different, is all. Get your pajamas on and you can sleep in here on the chaise lounge tonight, if you’d like.”

Harry was still unsure, but he nodded his head and bolted out the door, down the hall. When he reached his bedroom, he shed his towel onto the floor and pulled on his dark blue pajamas. His skin was smooth and dry by then. Normal, like the scales were never really there in the first place. He pretended this as he went back down the hall, blanket and pillow in tow. 

He was about to push the door open and walk in when he heard a quiet noise, like a muffled sob. He peered through the crack of the door, and saw his mom still sitting where he left her, eyes squeezed shut, crying into her hand to keep quiet. She hadn’t heard him coming, couldn’t see him watching, so Harry turned around and went back to his room to sleep alone. 

 

In the next few years, Harry learned to deal with his scales. Cover them up when it rained, and politely turn down invitations to go swimming in the summer. He was lucky not to have any on his face, so that helped. But he was thirsty all the time, and his skin was so consistently dry that he’d get patches of peeling skin on his nose and cheeks. If Harry was worrisome at ten, he was verging on paranoid by thirteen. He didn’t really have friends, and even though he was curious about girls, and secretly maybe boys, he was so disgusted with his own body—a gangly, molting, four nippled fish boy—that he’d never think about letting someone get close to him, even if that was something anyone actually wanted to do. 

The one thing Harry was passionate about, the one thing that kept him going, was music. Music was his lifeline, his soul, his only way of really connecting with anything. When he daydreamed, most of the time it was about being the lead singer of a world-famous band. He’d get tattoos and wear too many rings and dress like Mick Jagger… But most of all, in those daydreams, he’d be normal. No scales, and maybe he’d even have the right amount of nipples. 

The problem was, when Harry told his mother what he wanted to do with his life, she absolutely lost it, in a way that Anne had never really done before. She blamed her objections on not wanting her son exposed to the “rockstar life” of drugs and alcohol, and when Harry argued against it, reminding her that she’d raised him right, she then went on to say that Harry would end up as a starving artist, unable to support himself. 

Harry didn’t really come out of his room after that, except to go to school. It wasn’t lost on him that his mother hadn’t treated him the same way since he showed her his scales those few years before. He caught her crying several more times after that night, usually alone when she thought no one would hear. For a long time, Harry thought he was sick. Maybe something terminal, and everyone was trying to be easy on him, let him live out his last few years in blissful ignorance. Maybe he actually was turning into a fish? It would make sense why he went through bottled water like a man dying of thirst. But more than anything, Harry got the sense that his mother was afraid of him. 

It seemed like a silly thought, at first. Harry himself was afraid of most of the world, so it seemed ridiculous that his own mother should walk around him on tip toe. But she did—so subtly that no one else would ever notice. Harry could sense it though, like it was in the air somehow. Clogging up the closeness in their relationship, leaving them at arm’s distance from each other. 

It wasn’t until one afternoon, the second to last week of summer break before Harry would go into the eighth grade, that his fears were confirmed. 

Despite his all his mother’s efforts to keep him away from music, Harry’s dad bought him a guitar for his thirteenth birthday back in February. It was the best gift he’d ever received, and all he wanted to do was go back home to practice until his fingers hurt, but Anne crushed that dream before it ever really had a chance to grow. 

“You’ve fallen behind a lot in your studies, Harry. You don’t need anymore distractions… You can learn the guitar in a few months, when summer break starts.”

Harry was devastated. He rarely raised his voice to his mother, but he yelled a lot that night, so much that at one point it felt like the house was shaking with it, but it was only thunder. He locked himself in his room for two days that time, and Anne let him. He missed school, barely ate, and talked to no one. Eventually, Des had to come by and coax him out. Told him that he’d help Harry to learn the guitar whenever he stayed over, and that his mother didn’t have to know. It wasn’t much, because Des traveled a lot and was hardly ever home, but it was something. 

Harry gritted his teeth and endured the rest of the school year, making straight A’s for the last semester. He was a model son, too; always helping out around the house, practicing good manners, and studying into the late hours of the night. It was his goal to make it so that, by the time summer rolled around, Anne wouldn’t be able to come up with any valid reason to deny him his guitar. He succeeded. 

For days, during summer break, while his mother was at work and Gemma was out with friends, Harry hunkered down in the living room, painstakingly learning his cords by videos he watched online and books he’d borrowed from the library. It was grueling, and Harry did little else the entire summer, but he still managed to catch on somewhat quickly. When he mastered Coldplay’s Viva La Vida by the beginning of August, he was so happy he could cry. He started adding in the lyrics as he was playing, singing them under his breath because even by himself he was too shy to raise his voice. 

It was a Saturday afternoon, shortly before the end of the break, that Harry was finally ready to share his hard work with his mother. He wanted to prove to her that he could do it, wanted her to be proud of him, for once. 

He started playing the song as he walked into the kitchen where she was making lunch. He didn’t announce anything or call to get her attention—he was too afraid she’d tell him to stop. So he played, waiting until her eyes were finally on him before starting the first verse. 

“I used to rule the world, seas would rise when I gave the world…” Harry crooned, a smile twitching at his lips despite himself. “Now in the morning I sleep alone, sweep the streets I used to own,”

But Anne was shaking her head. Her eyes were so wide, it was like they were about to fall out of her head. “Harry, no!” She shouted it.

Harry, feeling anger clench in his chest, pushed on. He could do this. He could do this.

But as he was singing, something strange happened. The words started coming out funny, like he was speaking a different language. And his usually low tenor voice rose up several octaves, higher than he’d ever attempted before. Whatever he was singing was not Coldplay, but it was beautiful. Like a lullaby from long, long ago. 

“Harry please,” His mother begged, but more weakly then. It was like her eyes glazed over as she stared at Harry. But she was watching him, finally. 

Harry continued singing, feeling something amazing wash over him, like he was being reborn. He was still strumming the guitar, but barely. It was the song, his voice, that was filling the room then. 

It was loud enough that Harry didn’t hear when Anne reached out to flip on the garbage disposal. Didn’t see as she started lowering her hand closer and closer to the kitchen drain. He was too caught up in his song, and the euphoria of it, moving through his body.

“Mom!” Gemma screamed, running into the kitchen through the back door, her headphones still secured over her ears. She pulled Anne back from the sink, shut the garbage disposal off, and ran over to start shaking her little brother, who’d closed his eyes, a smile on his face as he kept right on singing. 

 

Harry thinks back to that day a lot. And the times that followed.

After, his mother and sister wouldn’t even look at him, unless it was to cast fearful glances out of the corner of their eyes. Harry sat alone at the kitchen table for most of the night after Gemma got him to stop singing. He listened to the two of them bickering in the next room, trying and failing on multiple occasions to remain quiet. 

“ _He’s my brother, you can’t just ship him off._ ”

“ _We’re not shipping him off, Gem. We’re getting him help. I was hoping this day would never have to come, but here we are._ ”

Help came in the form of the three of them packing into Anne’s car, two giant suitcases of Harry’s things jammed in the trunk, along with his guitar and another two overnight bags for his mother and Gemma. 

They flew to New Orleans. Hot, swampy, and so bustling with life that it made Harry’s head spin. There was music everywhere, spilling out into the streets, filling the air. Culture and color and history bursting the city at its seams. 

That’s where they left him; with his seventy-two year old maternal grandmother who informed him just minutes after he arrived that she had scales, too. 

 

Harry’s looking at an old photograph of his grandma when Zayn knocks on his bedroom door the next day.

“Don’t you ever work?” Harry grumbles when Zayn walks in. Nonetheless, he scoots over in his bed, making room.

Zayn settles beside him, reaching to rest his arm around Harry’s shoulder. “Don’t need to work.” Zayn grins. “I’m that good.”

“You’re gross.” Harry mutters halfheartedly.

“Is that Granny Cox?” Zayn’s grin turns into a fond smile as he takes the framed photograph that Harry offers him. “I only met the woman once, but she made an impression.”

Harry smiles, too. “Yeah, she was pretty cool.” Then, after a while, he says something he’s been muling over in his mind for awhile. “I lived with her in New Orleans for five years, and she used to try to teach me things all the time, about how to deal with this…whatever this is. But I never wanted to listen to her. I always wanted to just, pretend it didn’t exist. …And until Tom, I thought that could actually work.”

Zayn nods knowingly.

“But I wonder now… if I’d just listened back then. Or even fucking wrote something down… maybe I wouldn’t be such a screwup now.”

“You’re not a screwup,” Zayn says it softly into Harry’s hair, before kissing the spot. 

“If I wasn’t a screwup I wouldn’t be a grown adult who needs to be coddled like this every time I get my feelings hurt.” Harry mumbles, only ten percent joking. 

Zayn raises an eyebrow. “Want me to stop?” He starts to pull away, but Harry tugs him right back in.

“No.” Harry sighs. “Stay here, please.”

Zayn chuckles. “Alright then.” Then, after a moment. “Do you think you’ll miss him?”

Harry bites his lip, glances down at his lap so Zayn won’t see the look in his eyes. “I know I will.”

“You also know you can’t keep him away forever.”

“Yeah,” Harry nods once. “But I need some space to think now.”

Zayn squeezes him a little tighter and says nothing. He stays there as a solid presence until Harry falls asleep. 

 

A few weeks pass by, and Liam doesn’t call. Harry never really expects him to, but he keeps checking his phone every five minutes like it’s burning a hole in his pocket. _This is what you wanted_ , he tells himself. But his heart is empty and it feels like a lie.

He has his space now, but he has no idea what to do with it. He’s back at work, and he manages to summon a smile whenever he’s with the kids, but it feels numb around the edges. Things fall into a routine again, business as usual, except for the looks Niall and Zayn give him when they think he isn’t paying attention. Like he’s a spinning top, and they’re waiting for the inevitable fall. 

Harry’s waiting for it, too.

 

Liam’s dreamed of Harry every night for weeks. They’re always back on the beach; Harry’s long legs stretched out in the damp sand, scales gleaming like jewels on his thighs and down along his calves. Liam feels green eyes watching him as he traces patterns along Harry’s wet skin, memorizing every freckle, every hair, every line of muscle. The sun shines lazily on them, weak morning rays just warm enough to make them comfortable, and not too cold in the drifting breezes that ruffle through their hair. Harry smiles at him—it’s breathtaking, it always is—and Liam smiles back, the happiness leaking out of him like he’s bleeding it. When Harry leans in to kiss him, Liam hears a song; all of eternity in a melody, buried deep in his mind like it’s coming to him from the bottom of a vast ocean. The sound is enough to startle him awake, every time. Just before their lips meet and Liam gets to remember what it feels like to kiss Harry. He’s beginning to forget.

The dream always seeps away from his mind, disappearing ink onto a white page. He knows it’s there, but he can’t completely recall it. The only thing left is a feeling of loss that poisons him, leaves a bittersweet taste on his tongue that he can’t get rid of. It stays with him like an old friend, and even though it makes him miserable, he wraps himself in it, lives in it, because it feels like something too precious to let go.

“Another dream?” Louis asks when Liam comes shuffling out of his bedroom into the kitchen. He starts brewing his coffee and stands there in his boxers and a batman t-shirt, unresponsive. “Liam?”

A grief weighs on Liam’s shoulder’s so heavily it’s like he’s sagging with it. He knows Louis sees this, but he can’t help it. Doesn’t really want to, is the strange thing.

“Maybe you should talk to Harry?” Louis’ voice is unusually tender, soothing even. He puts a hand on Liam’s back, pats him twice. “If you say your piece, it could bring you some closure.”

Liam shrugs. “I’ve already said my piece. It’s done.” Harry’s gone—the Harry he knew on the beach all those weeks ago could exist in his dreams, but that’s it. Louis still doesn’t know the full story though, and Liam doesn’t plan to tell him. 

Louis sighs, and leaves him be. It always comes to that. “I call shower first.” He mumbles. 

 

Liam can pretend like he’s done with Harry, has tried convincing himself, but in reality it takes everything in him not to pick up his phone and just call him to hear his voice. He did once, with Louis’ phone, but it went to voicemail. Just an automated recording and a shrill beep that made Liam’s ears ring.

The thing is, he’s confused. He never stopped loving Harry, but after that day at the hospital, things happened so fast that he didn’t know how to process it all. For the first time ever, he’d been afraid of Harry and what he was capable of. The look that was in his eyes as he explained how he killed that little girl—it gave Liam a chill that ran through every memory, every thought, every dream he had of him—an inexplicable draft in an otherwise warm room, raising goosebumps along his skin. 

He had two versions of Harry in his head, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t mesh them together. 

 

Liam thinks he might have had a chance of moving on one day—leaving the strange world of mythological creatures come to life and curly-haired boys with bright eyes—but when he sees Harry in the grocery store one Saturday afternoon, every hard consideration and steadfast resistance falls away, shattering like glass at his feet. He isn’t in a dream, but he feels like it, moving forward on a foreign will, peering over a giant display of sugary breakfast cereals. 

Harry is lingering near the dairy section, a basket hanging loosely from his forearm as he frowns at the different brands of eggs, all claiming to be Farm Fresh. He’s wearing the blue shirt with the stars spattered across it, hanging freely over dark jeans. His boots are scuffed and tasseled, moving as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other every so often. His hair’s pulled back into a bun at the back of his head, exposing the silky curls at the nape of his neck and the flushed backs of his ears. He doesn’t turn to look at Liam, but his shoulders seem to tense, and he peers to his left and his right momentarily, almost like he’s felt something ghost across his skin. 

Liam is bolted to the spot, too careful to walk any closer, and too weak-willed to move away. That thing, whatever it is, throbs in his chest until he’s sore with it. He sees _his _Harry there, biting soft lips as he places a carton of eggs in his basket and checks them for cracks. Liam’s Harry with the slow smile and the bad back and the jokes that everyone laughs at simply to see a grin cross over his face. Gentle, kind, celestial.__

__Eventually Harry walks away with his eggs, disappearing between the aisles, and Liam’s left alone again._ _

__

__One week later, the feeling has intensified. Liam starts to think maybe he’s coming down with a cold, suffering from a new kind of fever that takes up residence in the heart and makes the flesh heavy with it, thudding every waking moment like someone’s turned up the bass in his body. He’s actually clammy; wet palms and chilling sweats running down his back, dampening his work shirts. He can’t concentrate on anything, can’t eat, can’t get out of his head. He hears Harry’s song night and day now, in all the waking and sleeping hours, a constant presence in his mind. He finds himself humming it sometimes, but it doesn’t have the same effect. It doesn’t still anything inside him or take away the restlessness._ _

__Louis has noticed. Louis notices everything._ _

__Liam keeps feeling eyes on the side of his face at work or at their favorite bar. Even back in their apartment when they’re on the couch catching up on Game of Thrones or playing the new 2k17, which Liam’s sure Louis only bought to cheer him up. It’s honestly remarkable how long it took until Louis’ patience finally reached its limit and he cornered Liam in the men’s restroom at work one day, just as Liam was walking over to the sink._ _

__“If you’re going to murder me, at least let me wash my hands first,” Liam says dryly, watching Louis lean back against the door, arms crossed, making sure no one else could walk in. He stares at Liam expectantly for several seconds without speaking._ _

__“People are going to think we’re doing weird sex stuff in here,” Liam points out._ _

__“Are you sick?” Louis asks, his tongue sharp and inquisitive. His brows are already narrowed, watching his friend like a bird of prey._ _

__Liam wipes the sweat from his brow, glances at his own pallid expression in the smudged bathroom mirror. “No.”_ _

__“What is it? Zika? Mono?”_ _

__“I’m a grown man, I can’t get Mono.” Liam mutters. Then, “Wait, can I?”_ _

__“So Zika then,”_ _

__“No. I’m not sick.”_ _

__“Stop fucking around. What’s wrong with you?”_ _

__“I ate some bad fish.”_ _

__Louis can’t help the smirk that comes over his face. “We both know you haven’t eaten fish since high school.”_ _

__Liam shakes his head, sighs. “Made me sick then, too.”_ _

__They both laugh quietly for a moment, then fall silent again, the lightness gone from the air between them._ _

__“I’m really worried about you, Li.” Louis’ voice takes on that tender tone again. The one he’s been using with Liam a lot lately, like a concerned father talking to his emotionally-unstable teenager._ _

__“I’m fine.” Liam says, resolutely. He crosses his arms now, too, leans his ass back against the sink so he’s looking at Louis._ _

__Louis’ eyes harden a little, almost like he’s hurt. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. I don’t know when we started keeping secrets from each other but it’s obviously not working out well. You look like your hair might start falling out in clumps soon, honestly. And then we’d have to stop hanging out, because I can’t go around with some bald guy who looks like he could be my father.”_ _

__Liam feels himself chuckle, quietly, and his resolve weakens. Louis can always make him laugh at the dumbest stuff._ _

__“I just…really miss him, okay?” Liam murmurs, squeezing his arms tighter across his chest. “Can’t stop thinking about him.”_ _

__Louis’ eyes soften with understanding. He’s just about to say something, but someone tries to push open the bathroom door. In turn, Louis pushes back against it with his small body, somehow managing to keep them out._ _

__“You really like this one, don’t you?”_ _

__“Love him, I think.” Liam says._ _

__Louis’ lips lift up in a soft smile, and his arms drop to his sides. “What happened that broke you two up?”_ _

__Liam shakes his head. “It’s complicated, alright?”_ _

__Three sharp knocks come at the other side of the door, right behind Louis’ head. Louis bangs hard on the door once in return, calling out, “Use the ladies’, jackass!”_ _

__Liam watches him, one eyebrow lifted. “What if that was the GM or something?”_ _

__Louis considers this, but then looks at his watch and seems not to care. “It’s 5pm. Let’s get out of here.” He says, opening the door for Liam to walk through and then himself. “And then you can tell me what the hell is going on with you over the three beers you buy me.”_ _

__

__

__Liam tells Louis everything. More than he’d actually planned to, in fact, because once he started speaking it all aloud he couldn’t quite make himself stop. The bar is loud and crowded, even outside on the patio where they’re seated, chilled breezes raising goosebumps along their skin. Louis shivers, but whether it’s from the cold or the words he’s hearing, Liam can’t tell._ _

__“So that explains a lot.” Is what Louis says, when Liam finally finishes. He doesn’t have the look of alarm, or pity, or deep concern that Liam had been afraid of. He just looks thoughtful, creases wrinkling his forehead like bed sheets after a night of sleep._ _

__“Can you say something else? Please?” Liam almost begs it, his voice low. He feels like he’s said too much. He can hear the singing in his head again and he wants to sink into it, close his eyes and give himself away. Louis still doesn’t speak for several more seconds, and it feels like an eternity._ _

__“I know what this is.” He says finally, setting his beer down on the table. His pale blue eyes are serious when he looks up at Liam. “I uh, had a friend. In college. Madeline—”_ _

__Liam’s pulse quickens, pounding in his head. “I remember her. The one who killed herself.”_ _

__Louis nods, swallowing. “My third year, when we became friends, she told me one night that she was descended from Sirens. Made me promise not to tell anyone.” Louis drums his fingers on his thigh and looks like he might throw up, but he meets Liam’s eyes again. “One day, a year later, she met this guy—some thirty year old writer living in the city—and fell head over heels for him._ _

__“Within a month, she was planning to drop out of school and move out of state with him. She was only one semester away from graduating and I begged her not to go, but she did. And it wasn’t until the week before finals that I saw her again; stood knocking on my door in the middle of the night, frantically asking to stay with me. She had bruises all over her body and she was so scared she kept looking over her shoulder and around the room like something was going to get her.”_ _

__“Jesus,” Liam mutters, rubbing a hand over his head. There’s a chill running through his blood, and he’s shivering now, too._ _

__“Yeah… and when I finally got her calmed down, got her to talk to me, she said the guy did it, which I figured. She stayed with me for four days—she barely left the bed, her skin was clammy, and her eyes had this empty look to them. She kept saying someone was listening to her thoughts, and she was panicked all the time. I wanted to take her to a doctor or something, but I was afraid they’d lock her away.”_ _

__“And she ended up killing herself,” Liam says the words, but instantly wants to take them back when he sees the pain settle over Louis’ expression like a leaden blanket._ _

__“I thought it was my fault. I should have called someone or said something…” Louis sucks in a breath, scratches the back of his head. “But at the funeral her mother pulled me aside and told me what really happened… Something Harry’s neglected to mention to you.”_ _


	4. Four

Less than a half hour later, Liam’s pushing fifty driving down residential streets, cutting the drive time to Harry’s house from ten minutes to five. He parks on the street in front of the house and runs up the drive, past the familiar black Range Rover, and stops when he’s standing on the front porch under the weak yellow light. Through the glass of the door, he can see lights on and figures blurring across the front hall. Liam’s finger hovers over the doorbell, but he waits a beat or two to catch his breath before ringing it.

Niall answers this time. And he seems appropriately shocked to see Liam standing there, probably looking like a wild man on the run. “Hey there, Payno. It’s good to see you.” Niall greets him warmly anyway, pretending not to notice. “Come on in,”

It seems Liam’s interrupted some sort of game night. When he follows Niall to the living room, he sees Harry on the floor by the couch, blanket draped around his shoulders and a smile on his face. The dimpled, extra smug one he gets whenever he plays anyone in Scrabble. Zayn’s sitting opposite him, frowning down incredulously at the board between them on the coffee table.

“Are you—? _That’s not even a word!_ ” 

“Yes it is. Don’t be a sore loser.” Harry breaks into a full, dazzling grin, and tosses his remaining pieces on the board. 

“Fuck off, Curly.” Zayn starts laughing, hard enough to make his eyes squint up and nearly disappear. He opens them fully again when he spots Niall walking into the room. “Hey Blondie, was that the pizza—” The smile drops from his face when he sees Liam following close behind.

“Zayn?” Harry catches on a moment later, and soon he’s turning around, his eyes locking with Liam’s almost immediately. “What are you doing here?” He says, but it’s not an accusation. It’s something else; softer, more afraid.

It takes Liam a second to get over the shock of seeing Harry again, looking into his eyes. All the old feelings come rushing back to him at once, like a wave crashing over him, taking him under. He hears the watery melody rise exponentially in his mind, the volume suddenly turned all the way up. “Harry—can we speak in private?”

 

They end up in Harry’s bedroom. The door is shut behind them, and the only light in the room is the little bedside lamp which gives off a soft yellow glow that doesn’t carry far. Harry sits on the bed, the light curving around his body, throwing shadows across his face. Liam stays in the half-darkness by the door, positive that if he moved too close to Harry, his hands would stray where they shouldn’t, and his mind would be wiped clean of anything but the innate desire to kiss the parted pink lips he’s been dreaming of for weeks. When Liam finally opens his mouth to speak, he barely recognizes his own voice.

“I know,” He says, staring at the profile of Harry’s face.

The reply comes quicker than expected, Harry curling in on himself like he’s known this conversation was coming. “I’m sorry—I should have told you sooner, but…”

“You were afraid,”

A morbid smile crosses Harry’s lips, then disappears just as quickly. “I’m always afraid.”

Liam runs a hand over his face, his back against the door for a moment before walking over to kneel in front of Harry, looking up into the eyes he knows better than his own. “This is why you pushed me away. And you made up that story about the girl—”

Harry nods, closing his eyes. 

Liam’s heart feels like it’s free-falling in his chest. He reaches his hand up until he can cup Harry’s cheek in his palm. The skin is warm and smooth, and Harry leans into the touch, a single tear rolling down until Liam feels it, hot and wet. “I missed you like crazy, you know that?” The words come out thick, trailed by a broken laugh. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you…ever.”

Harry smiles, takes Liam’s hand where it’s still holding his cheek. “I missed you, too. I’m sorry I lied, I just… I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I can’t trust anyone.”

“You’ve been hurt.” Liam says simply. “A lot, from what I can tell.”

“I always feel like some sort of ticking bomb, waiting to go off.” Harry breathes heavily, bringing Liam’s hand away from his face to rest in his lap. “There’s something evil in me, Li. Whether you think so or not. And when I met you, I got more scared than I’ve ever been in my life.”

Liam is quiet for a while, thinking. When Louis explained things to him at the bar, Liam’s mind was racing, unable to really process it. “This link between us… how does it work?”

Harry blows out a breath, runs a hand through his hair. Liam can tell he’s still on edge, still worried this is the wrong call. But he speaks anyway, talking even slower than usual, and quiet enough that Liam has to lean in closer to hear. 

“The ancient records I found in my grandma’s old things call it a mark. It’s different than a soulmate, although it can take on that form. The night you crashed, when you heard my singing, that set it into motion. And once it starts, it can’t really be stopped.”

Liam listens patiently, waits as Harry gathers his thoughts and continues. 

“It’s a curse, technically—cast on my ancestors as a way to enslave them to the human race as punishment for the lives they took. It’s rare nowadays. Really rare, apparently. Took me days after I met you to find something about it in those old writings. The last time it was written about was in the late 1600’s when a young girl was marked by a man who commanded her to make her entire village massacre each other. The human historians never knew what to make of it when they found the place; just a ghost town in the aftermath of a horrific battle, nothing but the stench of rotting bodies lingering in the air. They chalked it up to vandals and pointless violence.”

Liam frowns, not fully understanding. “You say he commanded her… But I’ve never been able to make you do anything you didn’t want to do, Harry. As much as I wished you would open up to me, I could never make you.”

“Yeah, but that’s the thing,” Harry says. “I have to let you in, first. Offer myself to you whole-heartedly, no walls… you’d have a power over me like no one else can. I’d be at your mercy, completely.”

“Jesus,” Liam drops his head down, forehead pressed to Harry’s thigh as he takes in what that would mean.

“It’s why I’ve been so guarded with you, Li… This is bigger than me. Innocent people could die… I had to make sure you weren’t going to take advantage.”

Liam looks up at Harry, a tinge of hurt in his chest. “You know I’d never do that. I’d never use you like that.”

“I didn’t know. Not then.” Harry says quietly, smoothing his fingers through Liam’s short hair. “And I’ve judged people wrong before.”

Tom. Harry needed to know Liam was different. 

“I love you,” Liam stared into Harry’s eyes, begging him to look into his mind, see the truth there. If Harry couldn’t be open with Liam, Liam would be open enough for the both of them. “You don’t have to let me in. I won’t ask you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with; I just want you to feel safe.”

The smile that spreads across Harry’s face then reminds Liam of parting clouds, when the sun shines through; brilliant, and sudden, and all at once. “I feel safe here, now. And I love you, too.”

“Can I kiss you?” Liam beams, waiting for Harry’s frantic nods before he’s climbing up on the bed and kissing Harry back against the covers. The singing is dizzying in his head; flooding through his brain like a rush of adrenaline. It courses in his blood, thrums with his pulse. Harry’s already tugging his own shirt over his head; pulling the sheet off a lost work of art. 

Liam kisses along Harry’s torso, lingering at his butterfly tattoo, and the laurels on his hips. He places a kiss on each extra nipple, sucks the main two in his mouth one at a time until they’re dark pink and puffy. Harry moans beneath him, arching his back towards Liam’s lips like he’s got something fighting within him. Dark, silky curls run in ripples around his head, framing a flushed face and open, needy mouth. 

“Li,” He calls breathlessly, digging his nails into Liam’s shoulder through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. “Want you,”

So Liam trails his way down to the waistline of Harry’s jeans, biting marks there, leaving a trace. He undoes the fly and pulls hard, Harry sliding down the bed with them, a gasp on his lips. Liam wrestles the jeans off him the rest of the way, and sheds his own clothes to toss them onto the floor with Harry’s. 

 

It’s slower this time—more careful, the touches lingering, resonating deeper. The lamp flickers on the bedside table as Harry’s hips move—riding Liam, his hair falling over one eye, moans trailing from his lips and wavering every time he sinks down and feels it in his core. There’s no fear now, between them. Just skin and sweat and something bigger. Liam can still feel Harry’s walls, but he knows the reason for them now. He’ll get as close as Harry will let him, and love him hard enough to feel through the barrier. 

Liam lets his hands trail up his boy’s back, fingers running over the bumps of his spine, the planes of his shoulder blades. He pulls Harry in, fully on top of him, close enough to taste his lips. “I love you,” He says again, over and over, pressing the words into Harry’s cheek, his neck, and over the bright, bright green eyes he adores so much. Harry melts against him, whimpers loud as Liam flips them on the bed and moves deeper, harder. “I will always love you—every part of you.” He says it like a prayer into Harry’s skin. “ _I’m not going anywhere._ ”

Liam moves just right then, buries in to the hilt, hitting the bundle of nerves hard enough for Harry’s head to toss back, eyes rolling into his skull, spine arching like something’s leaving his body, beaten out of him. Harry lets out a gasping sob as he comes, his nails breaking skin on Liam’s back. The lamp on the bedside table becomes impossibly bright in that second, almost blinding them, and then goes out completely. 

Liam shouts Harry’s name into damp curls, coming harder than he has in weeks.

 

**Six Months Later**

 

Liam can tell Harry’s nervous, even though he swears he’s fine. He’s twisting his rings again, touching the ends of his curls every couple minutes. Liam gives his hand a squeeze, and Harry turns to him with a small, grateful smile. 

“You look really beautiful today,” Liam says, quietly, so the uber driver won’t hear him. It’s meant just for Harry’s ears.

“You just like it when I wear blue jeans,” Harry grins, smoothing a hand over his thigh anyway. “This isn’t too much, is it? What I’m wearing?”

A black, nearly sheer shirt, and sparkly silver boots that caught the dying sunlight and dazzled like something ethereal. No, it was perfect for Harry. “You’re stunning, as always.” Liam presses a kiss behind Harry’s ear, feeling the baby curls there tickling his lips.

“What if they don’t like who I’ve become?” Harry murmurs, turning his gaze to Liam, brow furrowed.

“They’d be crazy not to, sweetheart.”

Harry smiles at that, his face brightening up like a flower in full bloom. “Thank you for coming here with me. I would have never done it, otherwise.”

“You would have.” Liam grins. “When you were ready.”

 

When they arrive at the house, it’s exactly the way Harry described it to him; red brick, big yard, tucked behind a giant oak tree that dwarfed everything around it. It’s Harry’s childhood home, the one he was taken away from as a teenager, and the one where his little family continued on without him when he was gone. 

“You ready?” Liam asks gently, holding Harry’s hand a little tighter. 

Harry looks at him, bites his lip. “No, but let’s do it anyway.”

 

Anne is nothing like Liam expects. She welcomes them with wide open arms, tears in her eyes as she marvels over how much Harry has grown. She treats Liam like he’s already family, asks the two of them how they met, which Harry expertly deflects. Harry asks her how she’s been, apologizes for never calling, and Anne practically breaks down. She says she never should have sent him away, that it was cowardly, and a panic move she didn’t think through. 

“You were only dangerous because I never told you what was happening.” She says, looking Harry in the eyes, her blue grey eyes wet with tears. Harry’s crying too, by then, listening to his mother confess everything she should have said to him years before. “I should have come back for you, honey. And because I didn’t, you’ve lived in hurt for years.”

Anne informs them that in recent years, she’s found support groups online, for Sirens and families with Siren children. She’s met a lot of amazing people—people like Harry, and Grandma Cox—and learned so much in the process. She always wanted to reconnect, she says, but she didn’t know how.

When Gemma arrives, about a half hour after Harry and Liam, she does so with two little kids in tow, and a wedding ring glittering on her finger. Her reunion with Harry is much the same as Anne’s—confessions, regrets, apologies, tears. Harry never promises forgiveness to either of them, only listens, and returns hugs when they are offered. He laughs over dinner with them, shares stories to catch up, introduces Liam as the man he loves, and the man who loves him back. 

At the end of the night, Harry brings Liam outside with him, to the old swing-set that he and Gemma used to play on as kids. Now, hula hoops and bouncy balls and kiddie pools litter the yard around it, traces of Harry’s niece and nephew all over the place. The kids love him already, affectionately deeming him Uncle Curly. 

There’s a smile on Harry’s face as he takes a seat on one of the old swing seats, and Liam’s got a matching smile on his face when he settles into the one beside him. 

“I feel so light,” Harry breathes, a little laugh following, like he’s in disbelief. “It’ll take time, before I have any sort of normal relationship with my family, of course, but this is a start. It’s more than I ever thought I’d get from them.”

Liam listens, watching Harry fondly. In that moment he realizes he’s always seen himself spending the rest of his life with this man. It was never a question, never a decision or an epiphany he came to suddenly. They would date another couple years, move in together, get married. Maybe adopt a couple dogs… a kid or three. And Louis, Zayn, and Niall would be the godfathers, the fun uncles. 

It was like the future was just rolling out in front of them like a red carpet, and all they had to do was walk. 

“I’ve been working with Zayn for a few months now, reading through those ancient records your grandma had and learning more about your ancestors.” Liam says, a little suddenly. “To learn all I can, anything to help you feel less out of control.”

Harry looks stunned, his mouth opening and closing again until he finds the words. “Liam… you did that for me?”

“I want you to see yourself the way I see you,” Liam says, taking Harry’s hand again. “Not a monster. Not anything close.”

Harry leans in, kisses Liam deeply, the chains of the old swings squealing quietly in protest. “Close your eyes and lean forward,” Harry says when he pulls away. “I’m going to let you in.”

Liam blinks, bewildered for a moment before he catches on and his heart picks up speed in his chest. “Harry, wait—are you sure?”

Harry’s grinning, eyes gleaming in the moonlight. He nods. “You’ve showed me that this mark doesn’t have to be a curse. This is between me and you, and I trust you. I want to do this.”

So Liam leans in, closes his eyes. He feels Harry’s forehead press warm against his. Their noses touch, and Harry’s curls fall over their faces like a veil. There’s nothing but darkness for a second, but then all Liam can see is light behind his lids, color exploding like fireworks raining down. He feels Harry, right there with him, and he smiles when he hears his voice, loud and clear inside his mind like he’s thinking it himself. Sweeter than any song he’s ever heard. _Now you have all of me._


End file.
